Omnia Causa Fiunt
by Ballistic Babydoll
Summary: Two women are brought to the past by a sword they found in a museum. Now one is on a journey to become an assassin, and the other finds a home in Masyaf. Altair/OFC slight Malik/OFC (Currently being revamped, but still updating)
1. Chapter 1

I couldn't help myself, I had to revamp the first chapter (again) my writing style has changed so much and the first few chapters are just not what they should be. I'll be working on fixing at least the first four chapters and going into the later ones to make sure that continuity is kept throughout the story. I'm nearly finished writing chapter twenty four so that should be on the way soon.

Love you guys, and thanks for sticking with the story as I find my writing style! Reviews about your thoughts on the revamped version of this chapter would be helpful, and don't worry about the difference between the necklace and the sword, it'll all make sense and I'll make sure to update the changes in the other chapters.

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><p>The streets of New York City were a stop and go blur as two friends sat in the back of a taxi cab.<p>

Samantha's cheek met the cool glass of the window as she watched the small pine tree air freshener, which hung from the rear view mirror, dance as the car slowed to a halt in traffic. The air freshener was a poor excuse for trying mask the lingering smell of smoke within the cab.

With a sigh she turned to her friend Amy, who had her hands clasped tightly together in her lap while her teeth worried her bottom lip. Amy was undoubtedly nervous as a first timer in the big city, all of the traffic and people were uncommon where she lived on Bainbridge Island in Washington.

"Are you sure walking wouldn't be easier?" Amy inquired softly, twisting a strand of copper colored hair that had escaped the hold of her ponytail between her fingers.

"We'll be there soon enough," Sam reassured, "besides, I still have a bit of jet lag and I don't want to walk there." She knew it was lazy, but the three hour time difference was already beginning to catch up with her. Besides, Amy would be far more comfortable in a bit of traffic than on the streets.

Within another twenty minutes of driving they had made it to their destination, The American Museum of Natural History.

Samantha hurriedly paid the driver and exited the cab, holding onto her knitted hat, which was pinned precariously to her hair with a few bobby pins, as a brisk fall wind blew through the streets.

Amy seemed at home with the chilly temperature, wearing a navy blue jacket, a thin sweater, and a pair of dark wash jeans. She barely let out a shiver as she exited into the crisp October air.

"You see the left side over there," Sam pointed as they walked up the stairs towards the entrance, "the museum was originally made in a Victorian Gothic style, but more was added onto it later on in a neo-Romanesque style, which is the part we're approaching now, and-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Sam, you've gotta chill on telling me every single detail about the architecture of every building we go to," Amy interjected as she opened the door for them.

Samantha gave a frustrated sigh, blowing a strand of her blonde bangs out of her eyes as she entered the building. "I can't help it, it's ingrained into me now."

Amy felt a hand latch onto her forearm as let the door close behind her, she looked up to find that her friend was staring around the room, no doubt having an architectural meltdown.

"The ribbed vaults," Sam whispered loudly, "and the pointed arches and pillers, and- I'm doing it again."

Amy patted her friend on the shoulder, "It's fine, you just finished your midterms, and I understand that your brain is still in college mode."

One more semester and Sam would be out of college for good, although the thought of becoming a professor at a later time in her life had crossed her mind. Amy, however, was wading her way through medical school.

The two woman walked at a steady pace through the entrance way, which had been decorated by a few large dinosaur skeletons, and headed towards a kiosk to purchase their tickets.

"So what exhibit did your dad want us to check out?"

"A medieval one, something to do with the crusades," Sam murmured as she riffled through some of the packets and maps that they had gotten "Aha!" She had her finger pointed to an area of the map, "second floor, west wing."

Samantha's father had been a curator for multiple exhibits for as long as she could remember. His job sometimes caused their family to move, but more often than not had kept him away from home for extended periods of time. Their last move had been from Florida to Seattle, where she had met Amy nearly four years ago.

Unfortunately all of his time away meant an unhappy end to her parents' marriage which, quite frankly, she didn't really mind. Her parents had always been an odd couple in her mind, her mother was always trying to keep up with the changing times while her father was caught up in the past. Samantha, apparently cut from the same proverbial cloth as her father, tended to prefer his company. Which was precisely why she had moved to Seattle with him.

After a flight of stairs and making their way through a few exhibits, the two friends finally came upon the one they had been looking for.

In her early years of college, before she had chosen a major, Sam had dabbled in a bit of medieval literature. It certainly helped motivate her to want to see the exhibit for herself instead of it being like a chore.

The entrance of the room was guarded by two suits of Templar armor, chainmail covered by an off white tunic with a large red cross emblazoned on it. A crusaders great helm completed the headpiece of the suits, and Samantha shivered uncomfortably as she walked past, feeling as if someone's eyes were upon her.

The displays in the room were nothing grandiose, glass cases full of artifacts such as jewelry or ornate crosses, more suits of armor, a few swords, shields, and armor that would have covered one of their war horses. All in all, it was a little disappointing.

"Is it just me or did you expect something a little bigger?" Amy asked, running her hand absentmindedly across one of the glass cases.

"Honestly," Sam played with the ring on the ring finger of her right hand as she spun in a slow circle to look over the room again, "yes. The rest of the exhibits seem to be far bigger and more detailed than this one."

"Hm," Amy walked over to Sam, a hand on her hip, "I gotta say this one's a bust."

"I'm inclined to agree, lunch then?"

The redhead seem to brighten at the thought. "There was a nice cafe downstairs serving Greek food."

"Sure, maybe we'll have a quick look around at the other exhibitions up here before we head dow-" The ring Sam had been playing with dropped to the floor and rolled a bit before stopping against the wall underneath a weapon rack. With a groan she cursed the loose ring her mother had given her.

Amy looked on with an amused expression as the blonde dropped to her knees to retrieve the fallen jewelry. "Hey will you get on your knees later for me too?" She teased.

"Shove it," Sam shot back as she replaced the ring on her finger before moving to get up. As she rose her shoulder knocked into the rack sending a sword crashing to the tiled floor. "Shit," she cursed loudly and scrabbled to grab the sword. It was fine, she reassured herself, as long as it went back in the right place.

Amy was now practically doubled over laughing at her clumsy mishap, one hand clutching at her side and the other steadying herself with a hand on her friends shoulder.

Samantha rolled her eyes and grabbed the hilt of the sword. Before she could process what was happening the room began to seemingly spin around her before a wave of nausea hit and everything went black.

As if in some sort of dream, she had the prickling sensation of falling, even when everything remained impossibly dark around her. Her arms went up to shield her face as if she knew the ground was coming, but no impact came.


	2. Chapter 2

I felt the need to revamp this chapter again. I feel like my writing style has changed so much that the story no longer flows very well. If you're reading this story for the first time please forgive any inconsistencies that you see while reading and I promise they will be fixed and the other chapters will be upgraded soon. To those that are re-reading this please review and let me know how you like, or don't like, the changes I have made.

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><p>Chapter Two: The Frying Pan<p>

Samantha could feel a headache coming on as she cracked her eyes open, fully expecting to see the tan ceiling of the room she had been in. Her eyes, however, saw blue skies that were devoid of even the slightest wisp of clouds. Hands that lay at her sides did not feel cold tile, but cool sand.

With a start, she leapt to her feet; her body rejected the sudden movement and gave her a massive head rush. Groaning, Sam placed a hand over her eyes at the light that now assaulted her vision. She had been laying in the shadow of a building, in an alleyway to be exact. Certainly nothing in New York, she reasoned, the clay-like color and rough texture of the building was a dead giveaway.

Then there was the heat. Sam adjusted her pale pink skirt and tried to dust some off the sand off of the black leggings she wore underneath. She had already begun to sweat under her black duffle coat and instantly cursed wherever they had ended up.

That had reminded her of Amy. Her friend was on the ground not far away, groaning, as she too gained her bearings.

Sam walked slowly over, pulling off her coat as she went and opting for the gray tank top she had worn underneath. "You okay?" She held out her hand for the redhead to take.

"Fine, just confused, what happened?" Amy took her friends hand, legs wobbling a bit as she put her weight onto them.

"You're guess is as good as mine," she replied after Amy had steadied herself. "One second we're in the museum and now we're here. Wherever here is," Sam finished lamely.

"Oh god, why is it so hot?" Amy complained as she shook off her own jacket to give her some relief from the relentless heat.

Samantha passed Amy her jacket, "Hold this while I go look outside the alley."

A few long strides later and she had made it to the edge of the buildings. Popping her head around the corner had been a major mistake, and what she saw made her blanch.

With a quickness she didn't know she possessed, Sam spun back around and flattened herself against the side of the building, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm herself. There was no way this was possible, but all evidence pointed to the contrary.

When the sound of armored steps reached her ears she immediately bolted towards Amy, grabbing her arm in attempt to pull her along.

"Hey, watch it!" She pulled her arm out of Sam's vice like grip, "What's gotten into you?"

"We don't have time Amy we have to hide or-"

It was too late. Samantha watched in barely contained horror as three knights appeared before them, each wearing Templar armor similar to that of the stands in the museum, though these were much too real.

"We need to go, Amy," Sam whispered hurriedly.

"I don't understand," her friend seemed confused, as if this whole thing was a big joke.

Sam didn't know what it was, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out. Sure, some Templars were known in history to have a sense of honor, but many were no better than common hedge knights when it came to exploiting the weak.

"Harlots!" One of the knights called to them, his voice bearing a heavy Germanic accent.

Samantha tried, once again, to tug on Amy's arm in order to get her to run.

"Excuse me?" The redhead was clearly offended, "What gives you the right to call _me _a harlot?"

All three men started laughing, the sound sending shivers up Sam's spine.

"Please, Amy, let's go," she begged.

The Templar's drew their swords, and Amy froze, as if just now seeing their predicament.

"Shall we show this little whore what happens to those who lack respect?"

The redhead finally began to follow her friend's advice and began to slowly back up as the knights approached them.

Samantha was looking around for an escape route. Climbing up the building didn't seem too promising, so she opted for the other end of the alleyway. A slight glimmer in the sand caught her eye as her foot nudged something hard. Another look told her that it was the sword that had caused all of this mess.

Sam snatched the sword off the ground, it was better than nothing, and sprinted away from the men. Amy was hot on her heels, but the clank of heavy steel boots told her that the Templar's were in pursuit.

The two women burst out of the alleyway as fast as the crowded streets would allow. They continued, dodging past people in sand colored robes, vendors, and even beggars as they went.

The knights, however, were not far behind. "Stop them!" One called.

"Guards, to me!" Yelled another.

Two more guards joined the chase as the shouting men caused all eyes to focus on the fleeing women. They could go no faster, and the crowd would not part for them. By the time they had given up running six guards had surrounded them and the situation seemed hopeless.

People always imagine what it would be like if something went wrong, what they would do if something or someone threatened their lives or those of their family and friends. Samantha had long ago decided that Amy was her best friend, and that she would gladly take a bullet for her. Now that she was in this situation, she doubted whether or not she could even protect her friend.

Pleading for mercy seemed like an attractive, albeit fruitless, action. She knew that no amount of begging would help them right now, the men seemed too blood thirsty for that.

She had this sword, though, and she didn't even know if it was sharp. At her father's behest she had gone with him to some LARPing training when he was interested in how war was waged in the past and she doubted even that would help. It would have to be enough. If she were elsewhere Sam might have even laughed at the thought of her father's nerdy obsession amounting to anything.

Now was not the time though, even if she only gave Amy a chance to escape it would be enough.

With trembling hands she moved into a poor excuse for a defensive stance. The sword felt much heavier than it had moments ago, when she was not relying on it to save both of their lives. Sweat dripped into her eye, and she quickly wiping it away before regaining her two handed grip on the sword.

The Templar's were howling in laughter now at her attempt at bravery.

"Okay men, let's show these pathetic women what we do to those who disrespect us!" One of the guards said as he stepped forward.

The man halted mid-step, a blade had been stabbed into the side of his neck. Both the guards and the woman stared in horror as he keeled over, blood flowing from his mouth and bloodying the sand beneath him. Behind him stood a man in white robes, his face shielded from view by the shadow that his pointed hood cast.

"An assassin!" One of the Templar's cried.

The two women were momentarily forgotten as the knights and guards made for the assassin, and Sam was happier for it. Now they could escape.

"Run!" The blonde commanded her friend as she pushed her away from the fray.

Amy took off with Sam on her heels. They got a few steps before Samantha felt a hand clutch onto her wrist and she turned around to see one of the guards grinning madly and holding his sword in his other hand.

"Sam!" Amy stopped in her tracks and called for her friend.

"Go!" The other woman cried out and struggled against the guard's unyielding grip, "I'll catch up to you!"

Amy appeared torn but nodded after a moment's hesitation and took off into another side alley down the street.

With a vengeance Sam spun around and kneed the man in his crotch, causing him to double over in pain. "You bitch," he swore as he clutched himself.

Remembering the sword in her other hand Samantha harshly hit the guard on his head with the hilt; the man's grip slackened and she tore her wrist out of his hand.

The cacophony of swords clashing behind her told her that the guards were still fighting the assassin.

She turned around in time to feel the hilt of one of the other guards swords smash into the side of her head. Without any other coherent thought she was out cold.

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><p>Altair pulled his sword from the Templar's dead body and wiped the soiled blade on his enemy's tunic.<p>

Today was supposed to have been his day off, and here he was, fighting Saracens and Templar's as per usual. He sheathed his sword ignoring groans from the injured and the screams of bystanders.

A hint of movement caught his eye. One of the lower Saracen soldiers was crawling across the ground towards one of the women he had just saved. Altair casually walked over to the man and put his hidden blade to the guard's throat. "Another move and you die," he growled.

The man stopped crawling and glared up at the assassin. "Why do you save them? They are nothing but whores." He spat.

Altair looked over at the woman; blonde bangs framed her face and barely concealed a swollen red mark that was appearing near the right side of her temple. His eyes trailed down to the sword that was loosely held in her slackened grip.

"It is our duty to protect the innocent," he answered as he stood and then swiftly kicked the Saracen in the face to knock him out once more.

The assassin stood over the woman for a moment, the sun casting his shadow over her body, as he contemplated what he would do. She was most certainly not dead, but he did not just save her so that she could be stumbled upon by more guards that would no doubt be arriving soon.

Altair gathered the blonde into his arms, making sure not to further agitate her head injury, and picked up the sword she had carried. The assassin began to search for the other women that had been with her, ignoring those bystanders who continued to stare at him as he wandered down the street.

A quick glance into an alleyway proved to be the answer, as he easily spotted the woman's copper colored hair as she attempted to hide behind a few old barrels.

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><p>Amy caught sight of the man as he came into the alley she was hiding in. He had proved himself to be no threat to them, so she did not hesitate to run out from her hiding spot to make sure that her friend was all right.<p>

The man moved to rest Sam on the ground with her back up against the wall, in a matter of moments Amy could see her beginning to stir.

"You saved us," her voice was barely a whisper, but she cleared her throat and continued a bit louder, "thank you."

The man didn't seem to know what to say, he knelt there for a moment, silent, before replying. "You are safe now, but I suggest that you stay out of sight for a while-"

At that moment Samantha became aware of the acute pain and moaned as she touched the welt that was surely beginning to form on her head.

"And do not touch your injuries." He finished and gently swatted Sam's hand away from her head.

The hooded man moved as if to leave.

"I know you are a stranger, but we could use your help." Samantha felt that she should at least try to find some aid for them. After he left they would be walking around blindly again.

"I am not a charity service," the man said, not unkindly, but with a note of finality and perhaps even a hint of exhaustion.

"Maybe we could find a way to repay you after then? We just need some way to gain our bearings here." Sam figured appealing to reason may work.

Amy did not seem to like any of this, she stood with her arms folded over her chest, still clutching onto their jackets even after their brush with disaster. She did not say anything though, and must have realized how desperate they were for some form of shelter.

"Besides, you saved our lives, and we owe you for that. Without you, even now, we would be dead by nightfall." Sam wasn't sure if that was quite true, at least she hoped not. However, that seemed enough to change his mind.

The man sighed loudly, "Very well, just do not make me regret this decision. I can give you a days' worth of shelter, but no more."

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><p>Somehow he already knew that he would regret this. Bringing outsiders to the bureau would no doubt count as compromising the brotherhood, but even so, he was known to bend the rules occasionally.<p>

He didn't know if the women were whores, as the Templar's had said, but they certainly were not from Damascus. Their clothing was nothing like he had seen before, and they were paler than any of the women native to the area. No doubt one of those European 'exotic beauties' that lecherous men in brothels spoke so highly about.

He had already started down the streets while his thoughts rambled. He could sense the two women were not far behind, sticking close in fear of another attack.

He could make out some of their whispering as they continued on through the streets. The conversation became clearer to his hearing as the crowds of people thinned out and the street vendors began to close shop.

"They said he was an assassin, Sam, doesn't that mean anything to you?" That was the auburn haired woman's voice.

"Yes well he wasn't trying to assassinate us." The blonde, Sam snapped back, seemingly irritated.

"It's not that I don't appreciate him saving our lives, because I do, it's just that," she paused for a moment, "do you think that maybe we're walking from one danger into another?"

Altair kept his head up, pretending to be occupied with finding his way through the maze of streets, but in all honesty he had already circled the bureau twice so that he could hear the rest of their conservation. The two women didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe?" The blonde said uncertainly, "I don't know, I'm just trying my best here, Amy."

There was a sudden lull in conversation, it happened so quickly that he nearly turned around to see that they were still there.

A sudden patter of footsteps informed Altair that one of them was coming to catch up with him. A tap on his shoulder was the excuse he needed to turn around to make sure that they did not know about his eavesdropping.

"We've passed this area three times, are we lost?"

It was Sam that spoke, she was holding her head in obvious pain, explaining the sound of irritation he had heard in her voice earlier. Though she was still sharp enough, it seemed.

"The place we are going to is a bit hard to find." That was no lie, he figured, and the hidden door on the back of the building was even harder to find than the rooftop entrance.

This seemed to sate some of her curiosity and he went back to pretending to search for the door. After what he assumed seemed like a logical amount of time he announced that they were there. Altair pressed his fingers into the ridge of the door that was made to look nearly identical to the walls of the building. The crack there was so small that it could barely be made out unless someone was really looking for it. He pulled hard and the door swung out just enough to allow one person through at a time.

The assassin quickly ushered them into hideout so that they would avoid being seen.

"You will speak to no one and will remain in this room until I come to retrieve you." He explained as he rushed them down the dim hallway to an empty room.

Sam and Amy were pushed through the doorway and could no sooner protest than the door was closed and locked behind them.

"Suppose the room service here is as good as the one in our hotel?" Amy joked as she poked at a bit of stale bread and cheese that had been left on a small table in the room.

"This was a mistake," Samantha muttered as she paced the room, head in her hands, "this was a big mistake."

"There is nothing you could have done, Sam," her friend offered.

"But what if I put us in even more danger? This century is not friendly to women, that's obvious, but what we could be killed or sold into slavery or all sorts of very bad things?" Samantha was at a loss for what to do. This situation seemed so uncontrollable and she felt so helpless. "Amy you were right. We should have never trusted him to bring us someplace safe."

Amy put a comforting hand on her shoulder to stop her pacing. "We're together, right? So we just stay together and see what the morning brings."

"I don't know how you could see this optimistically, especially after our discussion on the way here, but I'll try." Sam sighed in discontent as she watched Amy move over to the bed in the corner of the room.

She didn't know where they were or _when _they were. All she knew was that she was tired, her head ached, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep and wake up back in New York.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is now officially updated! Fixed inconsistencies, bad writing, and so forth. Please let me know if you like or dislike the changes! Chapter four will be edited next so look for it within the next week or so.

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><p>Chapter Three: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire<p>

Sam's head was pounding when she woke, and even Amy's soft snores from beside her sounded like the thundering steps of giants. She rubbed her temples in attempt to alleviate some of the pain, but it was a fruitless effort. It must have been at least half an hour that she lay there until the migraine had subsided to a dull throb. Samantha could not stand laying there any longer and slowly rose into a sitting position. The room was utterly dark due to its lack of windows, and she was sure that there was no way she could find a way to light the candle that she had blown out the night before.

The impenetrable darkness caused many a soft curse to be uttered as Sam bumped into some unseen table in search of her shoes. Once those were found and in place on her feet she felt along the wall until her hand met the cold metal of the door handle.

The handle was turned with bated breath as she attempted to be as quiet as possible. A single line of light filled the room as the door cracked open. Samantha opened the door as wide as she dared before slipping into the hallway.

Everything was quiet with no one in sight. With a soft sigh Sam realized that she hadn't thought of what she might do next. The hallway was lit, albeit dimly, so she could make out the three other doors that surrounded theirs. One of them could lead to the man who had helped them, the assassin. The thought that the other doors could lead to someone much worse had her hesitating in the doorway.

Samantha headed towards the last door of the hallway. Acting on her impulses could doom her just as much as inaction so there was really no reason why she shouldn't explore.

Each step had her cringing, the dull thud of her heeled boots sounding three times louder to her now that she was trying to be silent. Time seemed to drag on forever as she made her way, hoping that no one would catch her sneaking around. The door finally loomed before her. Hands hesitated on the knob for just a moment before she burst into the room.

It was empty, at least of people.

Samantha counted her blessings as she shut the door behind her. The room was an unimpressive sort of office, at least that was how it appeared to her, with a long wooden table with small stacks of paper littered all over it. Two chairs sat beside it and another table held what looked like a pitcher holding water, but under closer inspection contained quite a bit of wine.

Her feet took her to the table, and she hoped that the papers held information that would help her gain some sort of bearing as to where they had ended up. Sam couldn't understand any of the writing since it wasn't in English, not that she was surprised by this at all, but the rest of the papers were full of hand drawn maps. She wasn't a cartographer and barely paid attention in geography classes so those weren't much use to her either.

Sam groaned loudly and slumped into one of the chairs.

"You sound frustrated."

The voice was nearly right behind her and she jumped slightly before her body tensed and she stopped moving completely. It was the man from the day before.

"Why would I be?" Her attempt to sound nonchalant was broken by her wavering voice and the fact that her body would not relax.

"Perhaps because you are looking for something, thief." The last word came out harshly before he moved around where she was sitting to stand before her.

"I wasn't stealing, nor have I stolen, anything," Sam answered, keeping a wary eye on the museum's sword that he held in his hand.

"Kindly explain how you came upon this relic then."

She could barely see his face from underneath his hood which unnerved her even more. He must have taken her extended silence as insolence because he then placed the flat of the blade on her bare shoulder, the cool metal bit into her just as much as if it were actually cutting into her. Sam wished she had her coat.

"I didn't steal that sword. I just happened upon it." Samantha didn't think that was really a lie. She hadn't meant to take it from the museum.

The blade was turned, the flat of it now against her cheek. She wanted to cry, wanted to yell and tell this man that she wasn't to blame for all of this. Sam just sat there, though, waiting for something to happen.

"Do not feed me your lies. I was searching for the Sword of Tancred for months only to find that it had completely disappeared from the monastery where it was being kept."

Samantha finally worked up the courage to look up at the assassin. From what she could see his eyes were burning with anger, all of it directed towards her.

She held her hands up in surrender. "Look, I don't whose sword that is or where you thought it was. I found it in a museum and now I'm here. If anything I should be the one asking for an explanation."

Sam surmised that that had been the wrong thing to say as the assassin growled angrily.

"I will no longer stand for this. Tell me how you stole this or I swear I will bring you to the head of my order and-"

The door flew open, banging loudly against the wall behind it.

Amy skidded to a halt in the room as Altair pulled the blade away from Sam to point it towards her friend. A man who Sam had yet to see before appeared in the doorway looking exasperated.

"I thought I told you to watch her," the assassin snapped.

"Perhaps if you had informed me of the mess you had dragged me into I would have been more inclined." His voice was hard, but not nearly as intimidating.

Samantha could tell that her friend was frightened, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "What do you want from us?" She asked as she found her voice once more.

"Where you are from and how did you come by this sword?"

She could no longer doubt that everything that was happening was real. These men, this world, was not from their time. The thought was unsettling and made her empty stomach churn. No doubt Amy had also realized that something was amiss, perhaps she was also avoiding the outlandish idea.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." It was the best response Sam could think of at the moment, and was probably true. How do you simply tell someone that you came from the future and have no idea how it happened?

"We're from the future year of 2011 and we touched that sword at a museum that brought us here and then we got attacked," Amy blurted out. Sam watched as her eyes shifted between the two men, gauging their reactions. "We honestly don't know anything about what happened so please don't kill us," her voice was trembling.

Samantha took the momentary silence that filled the room as an opportunity to rush over to her friend. Amy was not weak, but clearly at the end of her rope. The whole situation seemed to come into focus as Amy's hand grasped tightly onto hers. Sam was afraid, more than she had ever been in her entire life. The events of the two days came rushing onto her all at once; she could feel her pulse pounding. She longed to run away from this place, from everything, and pretend that all of this hadn't happened.

"We aren't going to kill you," the newer man said comfortingly. "What are your names?"

Sam was sure he was trying to sound less threatening than his friend.

"I'm Samantha, and this is Amy. Look, we didn't even mean to take the sword. It's yours if you want it."

She was expecting some sort of answer, even a reassurance that everything would be fine. Instead, the two men exchanged glances before ordering them to stay put while they stepped into the hall to speak.

Sam took a deep breath in attempt to calm herself before speaking, "So I think we may actually be in the past."

Amy shook her head, "That's not possible."

"Look I know that it isn't possible, but here we are."

"I want to go back." Amy had started shaking again and Sam quickly tried to comfort her.

She was glad that she felt the need to console Amy and look out for her. It made it much easier to push down her own growing panic. "We'll get back," Sam wrapped her arms tightly around her friend, wishing she could promise that.

The door clicked open and the two parted. Samantha grew tense as the two men entered; she was just so scared of what might happen to them. She didn't think she had ever been so stressed out in her life.

The one who had saved them glowered from under the shadow of his hood while the other man strode towards them.

"We have no real authority on this, obviously sensitive, matter." The newer man seemed much more open to the idea that they were telling the truth, which made him more of an ally than the other assassin. "Our master in Masyaf will be able to see the truth of this and will decide your fate."

They would live another day, but the idea of their lives being in so many people's hands was still daunting.

"Well then, there is nothing more we can do now. It is nearly lunchtime and I am sure you two are hungry."

The change in pace of the conversation was so unexpected that it nearly made her laugh. It did also lighten the mood in the room exponentially.

Sam glanced over at the other assassin who was still glaring at all of them in obvious disapproval. There was no doubt that there would eventually be trouble between them.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is now updated and I will be working on major changes to chapter five soon. For the commenter who wanted to correct the eagle vision colors I can confirm that in the first game the assassination targets are in gold, the informants are in white, allies in blue, and enemies/soldiers in red. It's been a while since I've played the other games so I don't know if they might have changed the colors in them.

Review and let me know what you guys think!

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><p>Chapter Four: Pleasantries<p>

The hall was quiet as the two assassins led them away from the room. Sam wondered briefly if they were the only ones present in the building. Wherever they were was small, having no more than four or five small rooms. It was obviously still built to accommodate more people than were currently there.

It didn't take them long to reach their destination, a small room where they would eat lunch. It housed a long table which looked like it could sit at least ten people on the benches lining it. On the opposite wall was a fireplace which looked like it was probably used to cook food and heat water. The already sweltering room was almost unbearable with the added heat.

There was already food on the table, perhaps meant for someone else, but they all sat down nonetheless.

The lunch of bread, cheese, and cooked meat was like a feast for the starving women. Sam was thankful that they had been brought here, despite all of the turmoil it had caused. Her stomach was full of food and water and she and Amy were still alive.

"Since we will no doubt be the ones taking you to Masyaf I suppose it is best that you at least have something more to call us than assassin," one of the men spoke after finishing off the food on his plate. "I am Malik, and my surlier companion here is Altaïr."

The introduction was a nice change compared to being ordered around and questioned, one that Samantha greatly appreciated. Any small bit of information gave her a better grasp of her surroundings and helped make her more comfortable.

"Thank you for saving us," Sam nodded towards Altaïr," and thank you for sheltering us."

It was the least she could do to try to set things off on a better foot than before. Samantha decided that she would try to forget all of the threats in an attempt to make her situation more pleasant.

"It is our duty as assassins to protect the innocent," Malik informed them.

"But usually they do not ask any more of us or spin wild tales of travelling through time."

Sam watched as Malik sent Altaïr a sharp look.

Silence overtook the table, no one willing to risk a possibly insulting topic or comment. Samantha had no idea what conversations might consist of during whatever time they were in and she figured that the two men felt similarly.

"Do you have family somewhere, husbands?" Malik broke the silence.

It wasn't an odd question, and she was sure that during this time they would have been married off years before now. "Family, yes. Husbands, no. I was studying to be an architect and Amy to become a doctor- a healer," she corrected herself.

"They allow women to do such things?" Altaïr asked disdainfully and met Sam's eyes for half a moment before returning them to his plate.

"You don't believe us?"

"How could I? You speak of women taking up a man's occupation. I can't be true." The assassin folded his arms over his chest and glared across the table at Sam.

Samantha remained calm, which seemed to be the best option at the moment. "It is not you who I need approval or acknowledgement from."

"Al Mualim will not believe your lies any more than I do." Altaïr rose from his seat and headed for the door while mumbling about how he would waste no more of his day on their nonsense. The only sound left in his wake was the door slamming shut behind him.

"You will have to forgive him," Malik spoke after a moment, "it has been a trying day for us all."

"Fair enough," Sam replied while rubbing her temples, "is he always this bad?"

"Not always. I believe you will find our master to be much more gracious; Altaïr has never really been one for pleasantries."

Amy laughed softly at that, a sound that Samantha was glad to hear.

"Is there anything we can do until we leave tomorrow?" Her friend asked after a moment, "I'm a bit too restless to just sit around all day."

Malik looked between the two of them before answering. "We cannot allow you to leave for obvious reasons, but there are duties to be done around here that I would be glad to have aid with."

The boiling room was becoming more than Sam could handle. The food and drink had helped a bit with her headache but after being interrogated by Altaïr even that could not keep it at bay.

"I'm going to return to our room, I need to rest my head," She gestured at where she imagined the large bruise on her forehead was.

"I trust that you will be able to find it?" The question wasn't asked unkindly and Sam was actually glad for the concern.

"Of course, thank you."

* * *

><p>"I don't mind helping," Amy offered, "I was serious when I said that I can't stand to just sit around right now."<p>

"Very well then," Malik said and gave her a slight smile, "If you'll follow me there are some books that I must organize."

Amy found herself in yet another room, this one had walls lined with bookshelves. The books that needed to be put away were stacked in large piles on the floor. Malik began to explain where things should go and the two began working.

The room was silent other than the thumping of heavy books and the occasional flutter of pages.

"You are very close to her," Malik observed after they had been working for a while.

"She's like my sister," Amy agreed while putting away another tome. "Has been ever since we became roommate's freshman year of college." She turned around and after seeing the puzzled look on the man's face apologized softly, "I'm sorry, everything I just said probably doesn't make any sense to you."

"Do not trouble yourself over it." A smile graced his face again, "There must be many differences from the future that I will never begin to understand."

Amy was perplexed, "You believe us?" She was having a hard enough time believing that they were actually in the past. It was difficult to see how he could possibly think that they were speaking the truth.

"I have a younger brother," he joked, "I have become a master at telling when people are lying."

A warm hand was placed on her shoulder.

"I do not think that you are lying."

* * *

><p>Sam scuffed her shoe against the floor, wanting to be anywhere but here. All of her conversations with Altaïr had left her in a sour mood and a longing for home. She ran a hand through her hair as she walked, trying to comb out all of the tangles.<p>

While rounding a corner Samantha nearly ran into the assassin. "Sorry I-" She was shoved against the wall, Altaïr's forearm against her throat. The movement jarred her and her head gave a sharp twinge. Sam briefly wondered if he had any semblance of self-control.

"What do you want?" He hadn't said anything and she was quickly growing tired of their close proximity.

Golden-like eyes flashed menacingly from underneath the assassin's hood but he still said nothing.

Each second grew more uncomfortable and Sam began to feel more than a little like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"This makes no sense," Altaïr remarked, his voice so soft she could barely hear it.

Before she could even begin to wonder what he meant he was gone. Samantha rubbed her sore neck and shoulders, it didn't really matter what he had meant since now Sam was going to try her hardest to avoid him.

* * *

><p>Altaïr stalked off towards his room.<p>

He was said to have been blessed with his Eagle Vision from a young age. It had never led him astray before, always he would know who was friend or foe based on his natural ability. Now, though, it was completely indecipherable.

When he had tried looking at Samantha with it her aura was a hazy color of blue and gold, marking her both as a target and an ally.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. If she was a target should he kill her now and be done with it? There was no conceivable reason why she should have been marked with blue, though.

Altaïr decided that he would put his faith in Al Mualim's wisdom. Never would he admit this flaw in his abilities.


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter has officially been updated and I will begin changes on chapter six. This chapter is a far cry from what I originally wrote so feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think.

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><p>Chapter Five: The Journey Begins<p>

Samantha woke feeling much better than she had the day before. Her headache had gone away and only hurt when she touched the bruised portion of her head. Amy seemed equally refreshed and chipper that morning.

The girls talked a bit as they waited to be retrieved by either Altaïr or Malik, preferably the latter.

"I feel gross," Amy complained mildly, "I wish we could change clothes or take a bath."

"Right?" Sam plucked at her tank top while she thought, she supposed that it wasn't so bad considering how hot it was there. "I wonder how long we'll have to travel," she thought aloud, "I imagine we'll have to travel by horse so it's going to be uncomfortable and long."

"Great," Amy groaned and laid back on the bed.

Samantha rolled over on her chest to look at her friend. "Are you afraid of what might happen to us when we get there?"

Amy chewed on her bottom lip and gazed up at the ceiling while she thought. "Yes, but I mean from what Malik said their master doesn't seem entirely unreasonable."

"I guess we can only hope."

A soft knock on the door was heard before it opened to reveal Malik.

"Good morning," he greeted.

Samantha noticed the bundle of clothing in his arms, "New clothes?"

"Yes," he walked forwards and the two sat up on the bed so that a bundle could be deposited into each of their hands, "you two do not exactly blend in."

She couldn't disagree with that. If they went out in their own clothing there was no doubt in her mind that Templars would be on them in no time.

"I will step out of the room whilst you two change. Meet me outside when you are done."

Amy and Sam had a bit of trouble with the clothes, both of them unable to tell which side of the nearly shapeless dress was the front and how exactly they were meant to put it on. After a bit of struggling they decided to take off their clothes, other than their undergarments, and pull the dress over their heads in the direction that seemed best.

The new clothing was unflattering and plain. The tan garment was loose on their bodies and would no doubt draw less attention than anything else.

Malik had also provided them with a covering for their hair which the two women helped each other put on. Not only did it cover their hair, but also acted as a sort of hood which would hopefully keep the sun off of their faces. Samantha was dually grateful for that.

They folded their old clothes and put them on the bed, unsure of whether or not they should try to take them along. They were the only things they had left from their time and neither of them wanted to simply leave them.

"Unless we find a way to get back we're never going to be able to wear them again," Sam reasoned.

The clothing was a small comfort, but ended up being left behind nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Altaïr paced in front of the bleary-eyed Rafiq who had awoken early to see them off. He looked down the hallway impatiently where Malik should have been returning with the two women.<p>

"Stop your pacing, Altaïr, it's exhausting to watch," the Rafiq yawned.

Altaïr crossed his arms over his chest and instead began to tap his foot on the ground.

The poor Rafiq was saved from the incessant drumming when the sound of footsteps was heard and Malik appeared around the corner with the two women in tow.

"We are all ready to depart," Malik announced.

Altaïr glanced over at Samantha and Amy, both now clothed more appropriately. He wanted to leave as soon as possible so he could pass this problem onto someone else. "Very well, let us be off."

Malik said goodbye to the Rafiq who replied in kind.

It was very early so the streets would not be busy enough to where they could not leave out of the hidden back entrance. This was lucky, for he was sure that the women would have complained about crawling up onto the roof to leave.

The mild temperature was a blessing, but he was sure the day would be scorching once the sun rose. Luckily that would not be for a few hours and they would be well on their way by then.

The bureau was not very far from the gates and the empty streets allowed them quick passage out of the city. Malik walked slightly ahead of him while the two women kept almost uncomfortably close behind him. It was too early in the day to start a fight and so Altaïr simply reasoned that they were still frightened. After all, they still claimed to know nothing of this time.

He felt one of them step on the back of his boot and he resisted the urge to snap. Instead he turned his head slightly only to see Samantha smile apologetically at him and mouth that she was sorry. Altaïr calmed himself with a deep breath, eyes focusing instead on the gate that they were fast approaching.

His patience was being tested more than ever. He found himself regretting his decision to shelter them once again.

The stables where he and Malik had left their horses was not far from the gates and he picked up his pace, eager to be on the road. Both of the women fell behind him as he caught up with Malik.

"We do not have enough horses for them," Altaïr observed as they approached the stables.

"Then one will ride with each of us."

Altaïr couldn't even begin to explain how much he didn't want to ride his horse with either Samantha or Amy. It was, of course, the only way they would all make it to Masyaf short of buying more horses. The thought of spending coin on that was surprisingly less appealing than sharing his mount.

The two men arrived at the stables far ahead of the women and began to tack up their respective horses in silence, each seemingly caught up in their own thoughts.

Altaïr moved across the stable to fetch his worn saddlebag. When he turned around panic instantly overcame him.

"Wait!"

Startled, Samantha yanked her hand away from where she had been rubbing his horse's neck. "What?" she asked crossly, looking between him and the horse.

He could feel his neck growing hot in embarrassment. Fakhir was fairly temperamental and for a moment he had been afraid he might hurt her.

"It is nothing." Altaïr nudged her out of his way so that he could finish getting Fakhir ready for their journey. He kept his gaze from locking with any of the others, they were no doubt staring at him because of his sudden outburst.

He finished only to find that Amy and Malik had already mounted up.

Altaïr somehow knew that this would be the outcome. It was some sort of cruel irony that he would have to ride with the woman that continued to vex him at every turn.

Fakhir followed behind him dutifully as he took his reins and led him out from the stables. He turned to find Samantha standing in the entranceway wringing her hands and looking at him nervously. "Come, so that we may leave."

Samantha edged closer. "I have never ridden a horse before," she revealed.

Altaïr refrained from giving a frustrated sigh. Of course she hadn't.

He gestured for her to come closer and she reluctantly obliged. She already seemed to fear angering him, and he wasn't sure whether or not that pleased him.

"Here," he grabbed Fakhir's reins in one hand and held out his other hand for her to take.

She was hesitant, but followed his instructions on how to mount the horse properly. He quickly got on behind her and reined up next to Malik.

* * *

><p>The only time Samantha had ever ridden a horse in her life was at a friend's birthday party in elementary school. That horse was a pony compared to Altaïr's<p>

She was completely tense, her legs locked and her hands gripping the horn of the saddle until her knuckles were white. Sam just wished someone would talk, anything to keep her mind off of the large animal beneath her. It was fine simply petting him, but riding him was another story. The fact that Altaïr was behind her did nothing to calm her nerves.

They rode for an hour or so in silence. Nothing but the sound of hooves tramping through dirt and sand permeated the air.

The day grew hotter as the sun relentlessly beat down on them. Samantha could feel sweat dripping from her temple down her face but would not dare to move her hands to wipe it off. She hadn't realized before now how easy her life had been with cars and air conditioning.

A hand on her shoulder interrupted her musing.

"Relax," Altaïr's voice came from behind her, "your sore legs will thank you for it by the end of the day."

Samantha wanted to relax, she really did, but having Altaïr sitting so close behind her did not allow her that luxury. When they had first started off she could feel his annoyance at her pouring off of him. She just wished that the tension between them would end.

There was a sudden movement behind her as the assassin's arm snaked around her to grab hold of one of her hands. He tugged it from its death grip on the saddle and left it to rest on her thigh. Her left hand immediately tightened on the horn to make up for the lack of her other hand. Altaïr must have noticed for he lightly slapped the top of her hand, causing her to jump slightly and let go.

"You must relax." He instructed. "Fakhir can feel that you are uneasy and reacts to that."

Samantha was sure that the horse could get over her uneasiness, but Altaïr seemed relentless in his endeavor to make her relax.

She took a deep breath, watching the sandy ground as it whisked by. Sam remembered a philosophy class that she had taken in high school; the teacher had started every class off by having them meditate and do breathing exercises. It had worked well to calm her nerves before tests and she hoped that it would be equally useful now. Her breathing fell in time with the horses hooves beating against the ground and she began to feel a bit better. Sam's shoulders relaxed as did her legs. Already she could tell what Altaïr meant about her legs being sore as she rubbed her aching thighs.

Samantha waited for some snarky remark from Altaïr, but none came.

She turned her attention ahead of them where Malik and Amy rode. They were too far away to talk to, but the endless silence was frustrating. Sam would take any conversation just to keep the thought of what was ahead from her mind.

They rode on and Sam said nothing. They passed a few people on the road, luckily none were guards. It was becoming unbearably hot beneath her hood and she thought she might take it off to chance catching a small breeze, even if it meant the sun being directly on her.

She tugged on the fabric, allowing it to slip easily from her head. The horse's pace did allow for a warm breeze to meet her, and for that she was grateful. The wind tugged softly on her locks as she ran a hand through them, trying to at least partially untangle the knots there.

After a moment she could feel Altaïr's gaze boring into her.

"What?" she asked, not bothering to turn her head to face him.

There was a long pause in which she assumed he was considering not answering her at all.

"Your hair color is uncommon here."

The statement was so blunt that for a moment she was taken aback. Sam wondered briefly if this was his attempt to make small talk.

"I'm not a spy for the Templars, if that is what you're wondering." She retorted, guessing at what he was thinking. She supposed it would make sense if one was expecting such a ploy; especially considering a tale as outlandish as hers. It made even more sense when considering that most people with blonde hair in this century were probably European and who Altaïr was most likely fighting against.

"I was not-"

She instantly held her hand up to cut him off, something she should have guessed would make him angry. "Look, I know you don't trust us. There's really no point in pretending otherwise. The least we can do is try to make this trip as pleasant as possible until I'm off your hands."

There was no way he could argue with that, she reasoned. The request wasn't that unreasonable.

"Very well," he grumbled from behind her.

Sam released a soft sigh. Content in the fact that hopefully the rest of the trip would not be terrible.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went by slowly.<p>

Sam got a few more words out of Altaïr about the surrounding lands before he once again fell silent. The only times that they spoke after that was Sam asking about if they had time to stop for food or drink.

Altaïr's replies were short as he told her that they would make camp soon enough.

Her throat was burning, though, and she knew that she should ask for some water. Samantha waited patiently, not wanting to ask the grumpy man behind her for anything more.

The sun finally drew close to the horizon and the two men slowed their horses, discussing where they would stop to camp for the night. It was then decided that they would rest at a small oasis for the night. When they arrived, though, Sam realized that it could hardly be called an oasis. There were some palm trees and shrubs, but no real sign of water other than that. Perhaps Hollywood had simply over exaggerated when they depicted soft sands, lush greenery, and crystal clear pools of water. The thought had her dry mouth craving even the smallest drop of water.

Altaïr had already dismounted while she surveyed the area, and now held out his hand for her to take. Samantha's body protested as she swung her leg off of the horse and hopped to the ground. She nearly stumbled as her feet hit the sandy ground, legs ready to give out after the abuse they had taken during their nonstop riding.

Sam quickly steadied herself and make her way over to Amy who was stretching her arms out towards the sky.

"You sore too?" She asked as Sam approached.

"Incredibly," the blonde replied as she massaged her tense shoulders the best she could.

"Only one more day of riding at least."

Samantha didn't want to think about that. She would rather ride for days on end than meet the fate that was waiting for them in Masyaf. Amy seemed unconcerned and plopped herself on the ground, watching Malik as he unpacked the horses.

Sam copied her actions. The sand was hot beneath her, but she had no doubt that the night would prove to be much colder. Her eyes swept across their makeshift camp and saw that Altaïr had already gathered a bit of wood and was well on his way to making a fire. She hoped that would mean they would get some kind of food tonight.

"Here, this is for you."

She looked up to find Malik handing her some sort of bedroll. Amy received her own and the two moved to lay them out near where Altaïr had started the fire.

The horses were fed and watered by Malik and Altaïr before they moved to sit on the opposite side of the fire.

Samantha was uncomfortably warm and felt more than a little sick to her stomach. The fire burning before her did nothing to help. She mumbled something to Amy about feeling dehydrated and her friend instantly handed her a water skin.

"Malik gave it to me earlier today. Have you had nothing to drink?" She inquired and sent Sam a concerned glance.

She wanted to be angry at Altaïr, but honestly it was her fault for never asking.

The water was lukewarm, but made her feel a thousand times better. Before she could even inquire about food Malik was passing around bits of dried meat to each of them. The food helped settle her stomach a little and she continued to drink water in small sips.

The flames of the fire danced before her eyes as the wood crackled and popped. A wave of exhaustion hit her and she closed her eyes, now enjoying the heat that the fire provided against the crisp air.

Sam looked over after a moment to find that Amy had already laid down and was snoring softly, no doubt as exhausted from the day as she was.

Altaïr and Malik began to speak in hushed tones. She couldn't hear a word of what they were saying and so she almost immediately gave up trying.

The firm bedroll was as inviting as a feather bed right then, and she could no longer ignore the urge to succumb to exhaustion. Samantha laid down and turned away from the fire, the voices of the men behind her lulling her to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter has been officially updated to better suit the rest of the story. I will continue working on fixing chapters and updating as soon as I am able. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!

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><p>Chapter Six: The Arrival<p>

Altaïr woke to someone shaking his shoulders and immediately sprang into action. His strength had the person pinned to the ground in a matter of seconds and rendered helpless. As he looked down to identify his attacker he was met with a pair of angry brown eyes.

"Could you please let go of me?" Sam seemed unsurprised that his first reaction was to attack her.

He was not entirely pleased at his rude awakening but still released his grip on her hands and moved so that she could sit up.

Samantha stood quickly and brushed off the dirt from her dress looking extremely displeased. Altaïr looked around to find Amy and Malik already up and preparing the horses for their departure.

"That is that last time I let Malik convince me to wake you up." He heard Sam murmur as she shot him a dirty look and returned to rolling up her bedroll.

Altaïr wanted to collapse back onto the ground. Already the day had gotten off to a bad start and he was sure there would be more trouble to come.

He took solace in the fact that they would be in Masyaf by this evening.

The camp was packed up in practically no time at all considering that they had very little supplies with them. The sun had barely risen and already everyone was mounted on their horses and ready to leave.

Altaïr watched as Samantha took one last look back at their camp before facing forward again. He wondered what she was thinking at that moment, as she took in the ashes where their fire had been and the barely visible indents in the sand where they had rested that night.

He could not help but notice that she was much more comfortable riding now. Her body much more relaxed and accustomed to Fakhir's movements even after one day. The early morning rays shot across the purple and orange sky, illuminating the land before them. Altaïr felt Samantha relax against his chest, for which he was both glad and annoyed. He was happy that she was no longer as rigid as a wooden board, but her close proximity was unwelcome and more than a little distracting. The assassin made no move to reprimand her, though, and was content to let them ride on in silence.

Samantha had asked that they remain tolerant of each other until they reached the fortress and, except for the incident that morning, he thought he was doing quite well so far. As loathe as he was to admit it her company was not as intolerable as he had originally thought. She did not talk often as they rode and asked for nothing. He found that now it was almost as if he was riding alone, the only reminder of her presence was the constant warmth radiating off her as her body pressed against his.

It had been a long while since he had lain with a woman, and the soft curve of her body served as a constant reminder. He found his hand ghosting over the swell of her hips and he longed to close the space between them.

He quickly came to his senses and snatched his hand away. She could still prove to be a spy, and even if she was not he would probably never see her again after tomorrow. Altaïr was no novice and had had his fair share of trysts before, but this was one he should have never even thought of. He had been trained better than this, and his primal urges could not take over his rational sense.

The day went by in near silence, both he and Samantha caught up in their own thoughts. He was grateful for the peace and quiet. The past few days had been far too eventful even with the life he led.

It was evening when Malik and Amy began to keep pace with them, and in all honesty he had nearly forgotten about his friend.

"We should be arriving soon," Malik announced to them.

Altaïr felt Samantha sit up a bit straighter and he wondered if she was really that worried about Al Mualim's decision. It made sense considering that she and her friend may very well be killed by the morn. Their fate rested in someone's hands that they had never even met before, a situation he imagined could be very frightening for them.

He had noticed that Malik and Amy had been chatting quite amicably as they rode up but the woman had since fallen silent. More proof for his speculations.

* * *

><p>It was dusk by the time they reached the city of Masyaf, and they still had to trek up the side of the mountain to reach the fortress.<p>

The two men left their horses with the stable hands just outside the city and directed Sam and Amy through the gates.

Samantha's legs were the sorest they had ever been in her life, and she was sure Amy felt similarly. She could see the outline of the citadel on the grey skyline and knew that the walk there would be awful. There was a small town before them, and Sam prayed that they could stop there for the night.

Luck had not been with her for the past few days, she decided as she watched Altaïr take the lead and head towards a path that winded up the steep hill.

An assassin in similar garb greeted Malik and Altaïr by name as they approached the foot of the path. He stood by a flag with an unfamiliar symbol emblazoned on it.

Sam stopped in front of Altaïr as he spoke briefly with the other man. Her eyes travelled up to the fortress high atop the hill. It was dim in the evening light, but she was sure that the architecture would be magnificent during the day. At night, though, candles shone through windows making it appear as if a thousand fireflies had made their home in its tall towers.

"Move," Altaïr's voice came from behind her as he nudged her forward.

Samantha was too tired to argue and trudged forward on weary legs.

The steep winding path would have been hard enough to climb during the day, but at night there was no way to tell where they were putting their feet down. The trail was unlit and there were patches of gravel that caused Samantha to trip more than a few times. By the time they had reached the top she was silently cursing every additional step she had to take.

The stone entranceway of the fortress led into a large bailey, devoid of even guards at this hour. A small flight of stairs on the opposite side led up to a large set of wooden doors. Altaïr pushed one of them open, the well-oiled hinges made no protest or noise at the movement.

The inside of the fortress was well lit with torches and a wrought iron chandelier hung above them, casting its warm light on the weary travelers. A staircase on the other side of the room led up to a second floor where she could have sworn she caught a hint of movement.

Samantha's boots clomped against the stone floor as they strode in and the sound echoed throughout the large room. With the look Altaïr was giving her she half wished that she had worn flats or something when they had gone to the museum.

"Altaïr!" A voice rang out from above them and all gazes rose to see an older man looking down on them from the second floor.

"Master!" The assassin called up to him. "Were you expecting us?"

The man began his descent down the staircase, his black robes swishing around his feet as he did. His eyes bore into the two women as he reached the bottom, making them feel more than a little uncomfortable.

"I was," the man announced as he approached them, "I received a letter from the Rafiq in Damascus informing me of the company that you were bringing here."

"What would you have us do with them?" Altaïr inquired, no doubt eager to be rid of them.

"Patience," the man warned, his eyes flashing over to Altaïr. "You have had a long journey, is there anything that I can provide for you?"

Samantha was appalled at how well they were being treated by this man compared to how Altaïr had first treated them. Right now all she really wanted was to go to bed, but Amy had one thing on her mind.

"A bath, if that's okay."

Sam could have kissed her, a bath sounded wonderful right now.

"Very well. Malik, would you please rouse Ariana and have her provide them with a bath? Altaïr, we have much to discuss if you would follow me."

Malik nodded and led them up the first flight of steps. They exited through another archway on the first landing while Altaïr continued with his master up the stairs.

A garden appeared before them from out of the dimness of the night and Samantha could have sworn that she heard the sound of running water.

"Where are we, Malik?" Amy inquired.

"A place of leisure. Some assassins choose to marry and they live in the rooms surrounding the gardens with their families. The women here are protected, treated well, and given roles to fulfill around the fortress," he explained.

Malik led them to a room on the right side of the garden and rapped on the door with his knuckles. An older woman opened the door, the dark circles beneath her eyes revealing her exhaustion. Samantha could not help but think that bathing could wait for the morning.

"I am sorry for the late hour of our visit, Ariana, but Al Mualim has asked that they bathe and receive clean clothes so that he can meet with him." He gestured towards Sam and Amy as he spoke.

Ariana waved her hand dismissively, "It is fine, and they look as if they have travelled far. Please, come in."

She stepped aside to allow Samantha and Amy into the small entrance way.

"Return to Al Mualim's study when you have finished," Malik ordered before thanking Ariana and disappearing into the night.

"My daughters will certainly enjoy your company," she informed them as she ushered them down the hall.

They were led into a much more spacious room where they came upon three girls who sat eating their dinner in content silence.

"Girls, this is- Oh dear, I've forgotten to ask your name."

Sam was already beginning to like the older woman. She seemed very kind hearted and was definitely very motherly.

"Samantha."

"Amy."

They both introduced themselves to the girls all of whom greeted them politely. Ariana then introduced each of the girls individually. Alisha was a small girl no older than six with light brown hair and a very rambunctious spirit. Maha was the middle child and clearly shy for she spoke little other than to say hello, and Rana was the oldest child at perhaps sixteen years old.

"They will be meeting with Al Mualim so we must get them cleaned up," Ariana explained. "I will go fetch some water to heat if you three will prepare the bath."

Sam again felt terrible about interrupting their lives, but all of the girls seemed happy enough to help them out.

Alisha ran out of the room practically exuding energy as she went to gather up her hair combs to share with the guests.

"You can follow me this way to unclothe yourselves," Rana instructed as she led them through a doorway, the entrance hidden by drapes of fabrics.

The room was littered with carpets of many different styles and in the corner of the room stood the bathtub. It looked suspiciously like a very large wine barrel that was in all likeliness reused to make a bathtub.

"Are you marrying one of the assassin's here?" Inquired the oldest sister.

Samantha and Amy exchanged looks and shook their heads indicating the negative

"That's too bad," Rana commented and busied herself with pulling towels off of a shelf, "If you marry an assassin you get protection, a place to live, and a job."

Sam could tell that she had given this serious thought and was most likely going to marry an assassin herself. It seemed like a good life within the fortress walls, though, much nicer than the city where she and Amy had ended up.

Ariana walked into the room before they could continue their conversation, Alisha on her heels. The older woman carried a large tub of steaming water and proceeded to pour it into the barrel.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Ariana asked as she headed to get more water. "One of you get in before the water cools!"

"No time for modesty I suppose," Sam told Amy as she stripped off her clothes and entered the tub.

The water level was barely at her knees but there was enough room in the barrel to where she could curl up into a sitting position to immerse herself in the water.

She cupped some of the water to pour onto her hair and sighed as the warm water trickled down her spine. It was the nicest Sam had felt since they had arrived in this time.

Maha silently handed her a bar of plain looking soap and she proceeded to lather it into her hair and then washed her body. She could not believe how much dirt had accumulated on her during their travels and how clean she now felt. Samantha quickly washed her face, careful not to irritate the bruise on her forehead that was slowly healing.

After she was sure that there was no part of her body that was unwashed Sam stepped out of the water and into the towel that Rana had waiting for her.

Ariana had return with fresh water and Amy stood unclothed and waiting to get clean.

Alisha quickly grabbed Samantha's hand and tugged her over to a small stool on the other side of the room. "Here!" The little girl waved a small comb before her, "This is my favorite!"

Samantha smiled at the young girl and began untangling the many knots in her hair with the comb, grateful for how at home this small action made her feel.

Amy quickly replaced Sam on the stool as a clean dress was handed to her. The new clothing was a pleasant tan color and went down to her ankles. It was much nicer than what Malik had provided them with and fit her body better as well. She replaced her boots on her feet, wanting to keep at least something to remind her of home.

Sam waited patiently for her friend to get dressed, feeling much cleaner and happier.

"Thank you so much for your help," the two women told the family for about the hundredth time as they made their way to the door.

"Think nothing of it," Ariana told them as she opened the front door for them. "Now be on your way, it is best not to keep Al Mualim waiting!"

The two girls bid everyone good night as they retreated towards the entrance of the gardens.

"Well now I'm relaxed and super exhausted," Sam told her friend.

"I have a feeling that by the time were done talking with this old man we'll be even more tired," Amy complained and rubbed her temples.

"I imagine so," she agreed and turned her head up to see the moon emerge from behind a wisp of clouds. "I want your opinion on something," Samantha stopped walking as they neared the archway from which they had first came.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think they would let me become an assassin if everything goes well?"

"Why would you want to do that?" Amy rounded on her, eyes full of concern.

"They might respect me for it, and until we find a way back we have nothing else to do."

Amy was clearly unhappy with her, but instead of arguing she walked through the archway and onto the stairs leading upwards.

Samantha followed her and in nearly no time flat they made it to the top of the stairs and found themselves in a sort of library. They walked past rows and rows of bookshelves before finding themselves in a study.

Malik and Altaïr stood before a large desk where the so-called "Al Mualim" sat.

"Ah!" The old man exclaimed as he noticed their presence, "You look very refreshed. I trust the bath was to your liking?"

"Yes it was very nice, thank you." Amy replied charmingly.

Samantha remained silent, knowing that Amy could be much more persuasive with her words.

"Good, good." He mused, stroking his beard absentmindedly. "Altaïr has told me much about you whilst you were gone."

She had no way to prepare herself for this conversation other than to tell the truth, one that she hardly believed herself.

"You claim to have been brought here from the future by this," he gestured to the sword from the museum that was lying on the desk before him.

Samantha nodded the affirmative and Al Mualim continued speaking.

"This is the sword of Tancred, a Frenchman who was a leader in the first crusades. It had been rumored that the sword held certain supernatural powers and so our order has been searching for it for years on end." The old man paced back and forth, looking from the sword and then back to the two women. "We had no idea that it would be this powerful."

"What will become of us then?" Sam finally asked, not wanted to delay the inevitable.

"The powers that made this sword great in battle have not yet been revealed. I think that it is best that you two remain here, protected from our enemies until we figure out how this sword works."

Samantha was relieved. They would live and be protected from those who would harm them, she could ask for no more than that. Yet her heart still longed for something.

"I have a request."

Al Mualim bid her speak with a small hand gesture.

"I wish to become an assassin."

Silence filled the room. Perhaps it was too much to ask of them.

"If you would have me," Samantha added quietly.

"Strictly speaking women are not among the ranks of assassins."

Sam's face fell, but she should have known this would be the outcome. She could tell from the smug look on Altaïr's face what he was thinking.

She once again turned her gaze on Al Mualim and could tell that he was seriously considering her proposition.

"You are too old to begin training as novices usually do, but I suppose if your heart is set on it then I will not stop you."

Samantha could not believe what she was hearing. Was he really going to let her become an assassin? She could already feel the smile growing on her face.

"Master!" Altaïr's voice rose from behind her. "Even if you were serious who here will train her?"

"You will, Altaïr."

"No, this is ridiculous, you can't expect me to-"

"I will hear no more arguments," Al Mualim snapped. "You will begin training Samantha a day after tomorrow."

"I would also like to help," Amy piped up from beside her before Altaïr could say anything else. "I was trained as a, um, healer in our time and I think I could really help."

"A wonderful idea," the old man clapped his hands together, back to his cheery demeanor. "You will make a wonderful addition and will help Anass when you are able."

"It appears as if our business here is concluded," Al Mualim announced, "and you are no doubt very tired."

The two women nodded gratefully and Malik was ordered to show them to their room.

* * *

><p>"Why?" Altaïr asked simply.<p>

"We must keep an eye on them, and what better way than to have Samantha under your tutelage?"

"She could simply stay here and be watched," he offered.

"They are from the future, Altaïr, there is no use denying the truth. I have taken this into consideration and believe that a new view is in order."

"Very well," he agreed, but was still not happy about the fact that he would be teaching a woman how to become an assassin.

Al Mualim placed a hand on his should, as a father would a son. "I believe in you, Altaïr. I always have."

"Then why would you have me train this woman that we know nothing about?"

"I see potential in her, and I believe that you two will help each other reach your goals in the end." He released his shoulder and bid him a good night.

Altaïr replied in kind and stalked off to his quarters, hoping that the next day would shed a better light on this situation that he had found himself in.


	7. Chapter 7

Final Edit on 4/6/15

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven: A new life<p>

A loud banging on their door awoke the two women early the next morning. The blonde woman blindly threw a pillow full force at the door and accidently hit a half-awake Amy who was walking to open the door.

"Samantha I will kill you!" Amy angrily cried as she fell onto her butt.

"Can't it wait till' later? I'm trying to sleep." She mumbled.

Amy kindly returned the pillow to her friend by whacking it full force onto her head.

"Hey!" Sam jumped off of her pallet and ran to the other side of the room, grabbing the pillow her head had previously been resting on defensively.

Amy rubbed her temples and went to answer the door. Malik's head peeked in, "Rough morning?" He asked as he observed Amy's bed head.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she mumbled.

"With that witch in there I definitely believe you," Altaïr stepped into the door frame as Malik entered and smirked.

Sam simply rolled her eyes. She had dealt with enough men in the past to know that arguing with him would be useless. "What do you guys want?" She asked instead.

"We were told to bring you to the seamstress to have custom uniforms made for you," Malik replied, watching carefully as Samantha and Altaïr glared at each other.

"Good," Amy said still trying to break the tense feeling in the room, "I can't wait to get into different clothes."

The two men led them out of the room and into the main hallway that they had been in the night before. Sam had to shield her eyes with her hand, for the light that streamed in through a window behind All Muslim's desk was blinding. "It's even more amazing in the daylight" She commented lightly, breaking the silence that had fallen over everyone. The structure was beautiful, and even the stone floors had, what she imagined, was the symbol of their order embedded into them.

"You should see the outside of it," Malik said as he led them back to the gardens they had gone to last night.

"I'd like to," Sam said as she looked curiously at a group of women who were chatting idly in the small courtyard.

The two women were led back to the house that they had gone to for a bath, "Ariana is the seamstress as well?" Amy asked.

"One of them, yes," Malik said as he knocked on the door.

"Good morning girls," The woman said brightly as she opened the door, "I was not expecting to see you so soon! And under such…odd circumstances," evidently she had been told about the uniforms they would need.

It was quiet, as neither Sam nor Amy knew what to say.

"Well do come in!" She said as she moved to allow them to enter.

"We will leave them in your care then," Malik said, "And we shall return in several hours to check up on how things are going."

"Very well, I'm sure you two are awfully busy."

"Very," Altaïr grumbled. Samantha was sure he felt that following them around was a stab at his pride.

"Goodbye then," Malik said smiling and stepping in front of his ill-tempered friend.

"Farewell," Ariana replied briskly and snapped the door shut.

"Well I have never expected to be making clothing for a female assassin," she smiled brightly.

"The past few days have been full of surprises," Sam agreed, a hint of sadness creeping its way into her tone.

Ariana seemed to sense an issue and quickly changed topics. "But enough about that! I have designs for you two that I would love to show you!" The woman bustled over to a wooden table in the corner with several pieces of paper and a quill and inkwell.

Amy and Samantha were awed at the intricacy that the woman had drawn multiple feminine assassins' outfits in.

"They're wonderful!" Amy exclaimed.

"You really are amazing." Sam smiled.

"Oh, don't flatter me!" Ariana grinned happily. "Feel free to pick any that you want. I will have it all done and ready by the time those two come back. My girls have already gotten a head start.

"Well I like this one," Sam pointed to one that looked exactly like the men's. She saw no point in changing what it looked like, and perhaps that would even grant her some respect amongst the men.

"I can do that for you," Ariana said as she scribbled something down on a piece of paper in her hand with a quill she had been holding. "And you?"

Amy looked over the patterns briefly, "I would like that one." She said and pointed to a uniform consisting of a dress with a cloak, "Since I don't plan on doing much fighting while I'm here."

The woman nodded, "That sounds good, if you'll just step into that room the girls are already making parts of the uniforms, but I would like to take some final measurements to be sure that they will fit. Then I'll customize them to what you two are looking for and we'll be all set." She smiled at them, "You'll both make good-looking assassins after these are on you."

The three women then walked into the next room to see Rana, and Maha hard at work sewing together some thick white sheets of fabric while Alisha sat next to them playing with a small doll.

"If one of you would stand up here for measurements," Ariana said and gestured to a wooden stool.

"I'll go first," Samantha said while stepping up onto the stool. She had been excited to hear that she could become an assassin, but now that everything was coming together she couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

"By all means," Amy took a step back, "after all I would hate to ruin how much fun you're having."

Sam huffed, realizing that she had given herself away by the small frown that had made its way onto her face. "You're mocking me!"

Ariana slipped the white robe that the girls had been working on over Sam's head and stopped any further comments that she could have made.

"Moi?" Amy gasped incredulously as Sam's head emerged from the top of the robe, "I would never!" She held her hand over her heart, feigning to be hurt.

Sam blew an irritated sigh as Ariana began pinning the robe where it needed to be tightened.

"You two fight like an old married couple!" The woman chuckled lightly.

"Oh if you think we're bad you should see her and Altaïr, constantly at each other's throats! And they've only known each other for four days!" Amy laughed.

Sam frowned at her comment and yelped as Ariana pulled the robe off of her and nicked her with a pin.

Amy snickered, "You'll have to toughen up if you're gonna make it as an assassin, Sam!"

Sam crossed her arms over her chest and hopped off of the stool, "It's your turn."

Amy smiled, "I'm only messing with you."

"I know, I know. I guess I've just been a bit on edge these past couple of days."

Her friend seemed to realize the weight of her words. "Sorry, I guess I've just been trying not to think about it."

Sam nodded an acceptance to her unneeded apology as Amy pulled on the robe that was handed to her.

The two girls chatted idly with each other and the younger girls about happier subjects for the next couple of hours as they made their uniforms. Samantha was glad that Ariana chose not to ask any questions about the conversation she and Amy had had.

"Done!" Rana cried happily and hopped off of the chair she had been on.

"Me too," Maha said softly and handed the outfit to Amy.

Sam dressed slowly. She wanted to remember this moment, knowing full well that it was more monumental that it seemed. From this day on she would be giving her life to a cause that she had only discovered last night. She wondered if her decision had been too rash.

"Looks good," Amy commented before twirling around and looking at her own outfit in the polished silver mirror in the room.

"I love it!" She put on a smile for Ariana's sake. Samantha did love it, she loved the way the fabric felt and how the leather straps and belt smelled.

"We'll find some way to repay you," Amy promised.

"Just show those men that a woman can be a successful assassin and I will be happy," Ariana smiled gently.

Samantha's eyebrows rose. She was surprised and at the same time happy to hear the encouragement.

A knock then came at the door.

"Malik and Altaïr must be back!" The woman exclaimed. "Quickly girls, give them some brushes for their hair so that they look presentable," She said and hurriedly made her way for the door.

The door swung open for the two assassins.

"Hello there! We have just finished, please come in!" Ariana stepped aside to allow for the men to step in.

"Did it go well?" Malik asked hopefully.

"I trust that Samantha was not a nuisance." Altaïr grumbled.

"Both of these women are very kind and a pleasure to be around," she boldly retorted.

"Very good to hear," Malik quickly stated and tried to hurry along their visit here to keep Altaïr's annoyance down to a minimum.

"Well they are just through here." Ariana led them into a side room and side stepped to allow them a visual of both Sam and Amy.

"You both look like assassins," Malik smiled at Amy.

"Perhaps if they were men," Altaïr scoffed.

Sam frowned, "I can be just as good as any man!"

"Yes, yes." Malik began guiding Amy out of the room to avoid the scene that was sure to arise with Altaïr and Sam in the same room together, "You would make a fine man. However, we will be taking our leave now. Thank you for your help Ariana."

The older woman blinked perplexedly, "You're quite welcome. I will send some extra uniforms to you once they are made. These assassins always find a way to ruin the ones that they already have."

Everyone except for Altaïr thanked Ariana profusely as they exited the home.

"Where to now?" Amy asked Malik.

"It is about time for lunch, are either of you hungry?"

"Starving!" Amy exclaimed.

Malik led them through a side passageway that led from the gardens to the entranceway of the assassin's dining hall. "Here is where you will take all of your meals," he announced with a flourish of his arm.

Sam looked up at the huge wooden doors in astonishment. Everything in the fortress was intricately designed, from the assassin symbol that was carefully carved into almost every surface to the metal loops that framed the door until they reached the brass handles in the center. She wondered briefly how long it had taken to create all of this with the limited technological resources of the past.

The woman's thoughts were soon interrupted by Malik easily swinging one of the large wooden doors open to reveal the mess hall. Assassins were seated at multiple rectangular wooden tables that were scattered around the room. A buzz of conversation hovered in the air, creating a more laid back feeling.

"Malik!"

All of their heads turned to see a seated assassin waving at them from an otherwise vacant table.

"Brother, sit over here!" the man called and waved them over.

Malik heaved a heavy sigh and made for the table. Amy looked up at him curiously but he seemed to take no notice.

"Brother?" Sam asked and raised an eyebrow at Altaïr.

"Malik's younger brother Kadar," he explained.

He appeared to be in his early twenties. Sam noticed that, like her, he lacked a red sash around his waist. All of the older assassins, however, seemed to possess them. She made a mental note to ask about this later on.

"Hello Kadar," Malik greeted him.

"Hello brother," he smiled, "I trust your missions were carried out splendidly. I would love to hear the details if you are not otherwise occupied."

The two assassins sat down in front of the youth. Amy glanced over at Sam and shrugged; they moved to sit down as well.

"Mine was not interesting, just killing a slaver." Malik waved his hand dismissively.

"I did not have a mission" Altaïr added.

Kadar frowned, "That is unfortunate, considering your reputation and skills."

Altaïr shrugged, "It is no matter; there will always be other missions to be completed."

"I suppose." The younger assassin huffed.

Sam realized that the younger man idolized Altaïr. She had seen Altaïr kill and it was impressive, but based on what bit of his personally she had witnessed it seemed to her that his regard for him was misplaced.

"Oh, forgive me," Kadar seemed to just realize that she and Amy were there. "I must have gotten carried away, are you friends of my brother?"

"Amy will be learning some healing from Anass and I," Malik explained.

"Why does she have an assassin's uniform?" He questioned, although not unkindly.

"Master ordered it, and it is not my place to argue. Also, Sam is a newly recruited assassin who will be trained under Altaïr beginning tomorrow."

"Sam," Kadar mused while dropping the subject of Amy's uniform, "an unusual name for a man."

Altaïr's head whipped around towards her. Samantha had pulled her hood up on the way to the dining hall both to shield her face from the sun and to avoid drawing attention to herself as a woman. It now seemed that she had done a very good job at the latter.

"Are you alright?" Kadar asked worriedly. "Did I say something?"

"He's fine," Malik spoke up before Samantha could.

She looked over to him, wondering if he wished for her to continue this charade.

"We are all hungry, you will not mind if Sam and I go to retrieve some food?"

"By all means, brother," Kadar gestured at him with an open palm.

"Come Sam," Malik tapped her shoulder and gestured for her to follow him.

"What's up Malik?" She asked after they were out of earshot.

"Do you wish to act as a man?"

She was taken aback for a moment. "Should I?"

He handed her a wooden bowl full of some kind of soup. "It may be the wisest course of action. These men are not accustomed to seeing women as equals."

"And you are?"

"I keep an open mind," he retorted.

"I suppose I see your point," she admitted while accepting a second bowl from Malik, "but I don't know how to be a man. You speak differently, you walk differently. I don't know how I would do it."

"You already seemed to do well enough with my brother. I think the key will be speaking as little as possible."

"I think I can manage that."

"Good, we can work on everything later."

"Like later today or later later?" She asked, already worried about being found out before she had even truly started training.

They began to head back to the table, dodging through other assassins as they went. Malik never replied and Samantha didn't press him for an answer.

"Where's Kadar?" Sam asked as they approached the table, Malik's little brother was nowhere to be seen.

"Just said he had some training to do." Amy shrugged.

Sam and Malik sat down and gave their friends bowls of soup.

"So Kadar told me that it's actually pretty common for women to become physicians," Amy began as she prodded her soup with a wooden spoon.

"I believe he was referring to the most basic of medicines," Malik said through a mouthful of soup, "but as for you, Anass and I will teach you the highest caliber of medicine that we possess."

"Sounds like a lot of work," Sam grumbled as she dug into her soup; she had never been really interested in anything of that nature.

"Do you think that your training will be any easier?" Altaïr chuckled, "Remember who it is that will be training you."

Sam frowned at his misinterpretation of her statement. "Oh, I remember all too well."

"Speaking of training," Malik began as he downed the rest of his soup, "I believe that you should train Samantha how to act as a man."

Altaïr looked at him quizzically, "That is not my responsibility. If she is found out then it is her own fault."

Sam had expected no other answer. She wondered how Malik would spin this to convince him otherwise.

"Yes, but what will the others say when they have found out that you have been degraded to training a woman?"

Of course, she realized, of course he would employ his dislike of training a woman.

Altaïr's hand clenched slightly tighter around his spoon, "I do not know how to train her!"

"It will be easy and I shall help you. This should take no longer than the rest of this evening." Malik explained.

Sam didn't mind the sudden decision to train today, especially since it would save her ass when dealing with the other assassins.

Altaïr sighed in defeat, "If I must. We will begin as soon as you are done eating; hopefully it will not take long."

"I'm done," Sam pushed her empty bowl away.

"As am I," Malik had also finished his soup.

Amy was left to scarf down the rest of her food, internally wishing that everything could slow down for once.

"Very well then, shall we leave?" Altaïr asked after Amy had finished.

Sam got up and began collecting her bowl to bring back to the kitchen but the assassin slapped the top of her hand lightly. This surprised her enough that the bowl fell to the table in a small clatter as she dropped it.

"The women will take care of that," Altaïr informed her.

She frowned but made no move to retrieve her bowl.

"So where shall we train her, Altaïr?" Malik asked as the two led them from the mess hall to the training courtyard.

"Certainly not here," Altaïr grumbled as they walked past the ring of sweaty men that surrounded two others that were sparring.

"Perhaps a secluded place in the city then," Malik offered.

"If you know of one."

Malik led the party to a dilapidated house that was surrounded by tall weeds near the outskirts of Masyaf. Half of the roof had collapsed in on itself and the other half looked as if it had been burnt and the flames extinguished before it all had turned to ash.

"Well this certainly is secluded," Amy commented as she peered around the outside of the house.

"No one will bother us here," Malik agreed.

"Are you ready for some early training then?" Altaïr asked with a smirk. His ultimate goal was to make her give up before she even started.

Sam cracked her knuckles and smirked back at him with equal vigor. The idea of succeeding where Altaïr wished her to fail set a fire within her.

"You will most likely not have to speak much to the other assassins, and if you do simply reply with a shake of your head," Malik began. "I believe we will have to work on how you walk. Show us how you would normally."

Sam rose an eyebrow but began walking over to the corner of the house and then back to in front of Malik and Altaïr.

"Good, you walk with your head up, confident and proud. It is a good start."

Sam allowed a small smile to have her face at the praise.

"Try lengthening your stride now, it will hopefully decrease the swing of your hips," Altaïr ordered.

Samantha did as she was told. She understood that her hips could be a possible dead giveaway that she was a woman, that and her breasts. It should have been no wonder that Altaïr had noticed, but the thought of him watching from behind as she walked made heat rise to her neck and spread to her ears.

After several more hours of being taught exactly how a man acted the sun began to dip low on the horizon.

"I believe we are done for now," Malik said as he grabbed Amy's hand and helped her off of the tree stump she had been seated on for a while.

"The real training begins tomorrow," Altaïr reminded.

Sam didn't move from her the spot on the ground, and didn't even bother to fix the assassin with a glare.

"Whatever, I just want sleep." Sam's gaze moved from the ground up to Masyaf fortress. Her eyes were itchy and exhaustion was beginning to set in.

The large stone towers seemed to spring out from the skyline, one that was beginning to fade into a light red and purple color. Sam sighed dreamily at the sight.

Even though the sight was breathtaking she wondered sadly if this would really be their new home. Already she was starting to miss the normalcy of having her apartment and college classes. Samantha now felt that she had taken everything for granted.

"Are you ready to go?"

Sam looked up to see Altaïr reaching out his hand for her; past him she could see Amy and Malik up the hill to the fortress.

"I guess so," Sam smiled slightly and gripped the assassin's callused hand; she was surprised that he had even waited for her. Altaïr hauled her to her feet. "I suppose chivalry isn't dead."

The assassin's visage remained hidden under his hood and his mouth did not move into even the slightest of smiles.

Sam saw that he was not going to speak to her so she walked at a pace slightly faster than his to get further ahead, but not far enough to where she would be eavesdropping on Malik and Amy.

Altaïr watched as Sam picked her way up the hill at a fairly fast pace, the white robes of her uniform billowing around her. He secretly admitted to himself that the training session was not entirely horrible, and that his feelings of lust that he had felt for Sam when they had been on his horse had not dissipated.

Altaïr told himself that he would not pursue her. He had been taught for much of his life that women were simply a distraction from his goals, ones that he would not be deterred from.

The assassin caught up to Sam, watching as her hips still swayed when she walked.

"This will prove to be very difficult." He whispered to himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Final Edit 4/6/15

Chapter Eight: Training

* * *

><p>Sam had slept extremely well that night. There were no disruptions and the stone fortress cooled down considerably more than the bureau in Jerusalem had. She was half-awake when she realized that neither Altaïr nor Malik had woken them up yet. She snuggled up contentedly in her covers and began to fall back into a blissful sleep. Altaïr, however, had different plans for her. Just as she was on the edge of consciousness the assassin ripped the pallet she was resting on out from under her. Sam landed with a yelp and sent an angry glare at Altaïr.<p>

"Your first lesson," he broke out into a smug grin, "always be on your guard."

"I was sleeping!" Sam protested.

"Then you would rather be killed in your sleep?"

"I'd rather not be killed at all," She mumbled, but could not argue with his logic.

"In order for that to happen you must train, so hurry and get ready. Meet me outside once you are dressed." Before she could react Altaïr threw a bundle of bandages at her.

"What are these for?" She held up one between her forefinger and thumb while looking up at him curiously.

Altaïr gave her an incredulous look, "For binding your chest. You are lucky that Kadar did not notice yesterday."

Sam watched as he left and closed the door behind him. She turned to look at her bra that she had left lying on a small table and wished that she could wear it rather than binding her chest. It was a few moments before she rose from the ground, taking note of Amy's absence as she did. She would have been concerned if she wasn't so sure that she had simply left to relieve herself or something.

Amy did leave the room before Sam woke to relieve herself. However, on the way back to their room she was stopped by an assassin.

"You, woman!" He called at her and gestured for her to walk over to him.

Afraid she had done something wrong Amy fearfully lowered her gaze and trudged over to him. "Um, yes?" Remembering how harshly men treated women who had no manners she politely added, "Is there something I can help you with?"

The man's face remained hard and his gaze unwavering, "Have you seen the assassin called Altaïr?"

Amy shifted her gaze to her feet. She wished that Malik were there, the man before her looked as if he would not hesitate to snap her neck if she even breathed the wrong way.

"I-I do not know," She stumbled over her words, "Um, perhaps you could ask Malik?"

The assassin scoffed, "How useless you have proven to be, I will just have to search for him myself."

Amy breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away.

Meanwhile, Sam was binding her chest tightly with the bandages Altaïr had given her. After a bit of struggling she secured the end with a knot.

"I hate doing this. I can't breathe." She complained to herself.

Within a few more minutes she had gotten into her assassin uniform and put on a knee high pair of leather boots that she had spotted in the corner of the room. With a sigh she looked tiredly at the door, today was going to be a long day.

"Altaïr!" Sam gasped as she nearly ran into him while walking out of the room.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "What was taking you so long?"

"Sam!" Amy's call interrupted what would have been a snarky reply.

"Amy? Where have you been?" Sam asked as she ran up to them.

"There's a man looking for Altaïr," she said while trying to catch her breath. "I thought I should let you guys know before you left. The guy was obviously looking for a fight."

Sam looked over to Altaïr with a raised eyebrow, "A fight, huh?"

"Abbas," Altaïr acknowledged, "he is always looking for a fight with me. It is best if we avoid him while we proceed with your training."

Altaïr began to walk away. Sam glanced at his retreating figure before facing Amy. "I guess I have to go. Maybe you should find Malik, I'm sure he'll give you something to do." She suggested before jogging to catch up with the assassin.

"So Altaïr," she began once she had caught up with him just outside of the main archway, "what are we going to do first?"

Altaïr approached the overlook of the bailey and gazed down at the sparring circle that was beginning to be swarmed by younger students. Later on it would be filled with some of his peers. Altaïr smirked to himself and tapped his fingers against the rough wood railing that his hand was resting on.

"Let's begin with something easy. We will begin combat training at a later time."

She rose an eyebrow, "Okay? So that didn't exactly answer my question."

The assassin did not answer her but began walking quickly down the slight slope and back up to a tall ladder leading up to the parapets. Sam rolled her eyes and hoped that Altaïr would not make a habit of not answering her.

"Ah! Altaïr!" The assassin that was standing next to the ladder greeted him as they approached. "Training this boy here are you?" He clapped Sam on the shoulder which both surprised and jostled her. Altaïr only grunted in response. The other assassin looked up to the top of the tower where she assumed they were about to climb. "Trying to break him in early, Altaïr?" He asked knowingly.

Sam couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that. Her heart fluttered nervously as she wondered if she could survive whatever Altaïr was about to put her through.

Altaïr, meanwhile, was holding back a smirk. "My student will be nothing but the best."

The guard grinned, "As it should be! I'm sure you will teach him all you know."

Altaïr nodded to the guard and began climbing up the ladder.

Sam looked up at his ascending figure in despair.

The guard patted her shoulder, "Don't worry boy, you seem fit enough. Altaïr won't give you something to do that he thought was impossible."

Sam highly doubted that but nodded nevertheless.

"You should catch up to him," the guard stated blandly.

Sam nearly gasped at how high Altaïr had already climbed. She quickly ran up to the ladder and began climbing it. When she was about halfway to the top she noticed that she was already getting splinters from the wood in the areas of her hands that were not covered by her fingerless gloves. Sam groaned in annoyance and continued on until at long last she reached the top and found herself on a small landing.

Sam noticed four guards in the room, but none of the assassins were Altaïr.

With a slight pause she noticed another ladder on the opposite side of the room and began climbing it as well. She knew that with her luck Altaïr had probably long since reached the top. Samantha picked up her pace at the thought of him scolding her. Once at the top she found herself in a long room, two guards were waiting at the top on either side and two others were spread across the room.

"Could you have possibly taken longer?" Altaïr's voice asked sarcastically.

Sam looked up to see him reclining in a chair, his feet propped up on a wooden table. She ignored his question as she massaged her burning arm muscles and surveyed the rest of the room more thoroughly. There were two rectangular tables lit up by small lanterns even though it was daytime. To her right were five open arches with wooden planks leading out over the edge. The view it offered over the mountains was breathtaking, but she still looked through the open archways skeptically.

"Why are we up here?" She asked and looked over to the assassin who had stood and was now stretching.

"You will perform the leap of faith," he answered and walked past her to one of the wooden planks.

Sam followed him cautiously, "What is that?"

"You will jump from here," he pointed towards the edge of the plank, "to a pile of hay below."

Sam peered over the edge, "Down there?"

"Of course, this should be no problem for you. Right, novice?" He sneered.

She stared in horrified silence at the long drop and the small pile of hay that seemed far too near to a wide ravine.

"Right?" Altaïr nudged her forward.

Sam looked at the plank fearfully, but carefully walked out onto it. She kneeled down at the end and gripped onto the wood tightly.

"Now what?" She was too afraid to look back at the assassin.

"Now you jump."

"What if I fall wrong and break something?" Sam's knuckles were pale against the wood as she clamped down tighter onto it.

"Be sure that you don't." Altaïr's voice came from her left side and she noticed he was on the wooden beam next to hers.

"You're going to jump too?"

"After you of course."

Sam took a deep breath to calm herself. If Altaïr could do this, so could she.

"The leap of faith, huh?" She muttered to herself, "What an apropos name."

She closed her eyes, took another calming breath, and let her body fall forward off of the platform. Wind rushed past her face and blew her hood back. She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from screaming and her eyes remained firmly closed. Suddenly, her body landed roughly in the hay stack below the tower.

Sam heard a thud and then a rustling of hay.

"Are you still alive?" Altaïr called.

She groaned as she tried to move; a bruise was sure to be present on her back tomorrow. A hand then reached through the hay and grabbed her wrist, roughly heaving her out of the pile.

Altaïr put a hand to his mouth to keep from chuckling at the woman in front of him. Sam was quite a sight as she emerged; her hood was down and her hair that had been tied back stuck out at odd angles. Pieces of hay clung to her tunic and could be seen sticking out of her sandy blonde hair. He could see that her eyes were starting to water and he hoped she would not cry.

Samantha started to laugh. "I made it!" She exclaimed incredulously. "I can't believe I made it."

She realized then that she could have died just then and it would have only been because Altaïr wanted to scare her away from being an assassin. Her smile turned into a frown and she began plucking the hay off of herself before pulling her hood back over her head. "We don't have to do that again do we?" She asked crossly.

"No, we are done with that, for today at least." He added for good measure.

"Good," she rubbed her aching back, "So how do we get back inside?"

The assassin pointed to a long wooden beam that led across the ravine to a landing. Another two wooden beams did the same until it led to the last landing.

"You can't be serious," she deadpanned.

"You could give up on becoming an assassin," he offered.

Sam grimaced, "Just show me how."

Altaïr raised a surprised eyebrow, most women would have stopped after they had made it to the top of the tower. Regardless, he shot off across the wooden beam with a practiced ease and stopped at the second landing.

Sam narrowed her eyes at the beam in front of her. Her right foot went first, and then her left foot followed in front of her right. She ignored the fact that she probably looked extremely foolish with her arms flung out like an airplane in order to keep her balance. Her legs wobbled in nervousness and fear, she realized that she probably resembled a toddler on a playground and could not help but frown. Sam's features changed to that of determination as she wobbled her way to the landing that Altaïr was waiting for her on. Once there she looked at Altaïr expectantly for him to continue on to the last beam.

"You may go first this time," he gestured for her to continue.

Sam glanced at the wooden beam, "I don't trust you behind me."

Altaïr shrugged, "I could leave you behind," he suggested.

Samantha frowned and put an apprehensive right foot first onto the wooden beam. She went at a slow and steady pace. When she had gotten about halfway across Altaïr started onto the beam. She glanced back mid-step only to find that Altaïr was quickly gaining on her. He didn't look as if he would slow down either.

"What the hell are you doing, Altaïr?" Sam cried as she hurried to shuffle faster across the beam.

The assassin did not answer her until they had reached the other side.

"When you are running from the guards do you think they will wait for you to walk like a turtle across beams? No, you will be killed." He explained.

Sam frowned, what he said made sense, but all she needed was more practice. The practice that she imagined certainly did not have her running across thin beams hundreds of feet above a ravine.

"Let's just continue," she grumbled as she wiped some perspiration from her forehead.

"Very well, you may find that this will prove to be more difficult for you."

Altaïr led her to the face of a stone wall which she gauged to be about 100 feet high. All along it were ledges, windows, and bricks sticking out from the rest of the flat surface.

"We're going to have to climb that, aren't we?"

The assassin nodded, "It will become pertinent to be able to overcome any obstacle when you are performing an assassination." Altaïr seemed to then rethink his words. "_If _you perform an assassination," he corrected with a slight sneer.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Can we just get this over with?"

"Fine, I will go first so that you can see the path that you will need to take."

"How uncharacteristically kind of you," she mocked lightly.

Altaïr grunted in acknowledgement of her words and ran up the wall, quickly finding a handhold for which to grip onto as he did.

When he was a few feet off of the ground Sam slowly walked up to the wall, she saw a handhold nearby and made a sloppy jump for it. Her fingers caught onto a ledge of a brick sticking out of the wall. Her left hand shot out to grasp a brick above that to even out her body weight so that her right hand was not the only one supporting her. Sam's feet were barely off of the ground but she brought them up so that their soles were pressed against the wall. She sighed at the small distance she had covered and reached for another handhold.

By the time she had scaled half of the wall sweat was pouring down face. The sweltering heat from the sun beating relentlessly down on her back certainly did not help either.

Sam looked up to see that Altaïr was nearly at the top. With a sudden burst of energy she began to climb faster, her only goal was to reach the top as soon as possible and prove Altaïr wrong about what women were capable of. With her new objective in mind she found determination boiling up in her and, despite the protest of her arm muscles, she scaled the wall at a pace that she didn't think she was capable of.

As she neared the top Sam realized that what they had been climbing was actually a very tall tower that led across to the citadels high walls. She heaved herself over the edge of the tower and sprawled out on the warm stone floor.

"I'm actually fairly impressed," She looked up from her spot on the floor to see Altaïr's appraising look.

Sam groaned in response and wiped the sweat that had accumulated on her face on the sleeve of her tunic. "No wonder you're so fit, if you do that every day." She laid there for a second more before sitting up and standing.

Altaïr was on the other side of the tower, one hand resting on the railing as he gazed off into the distance.

"What are you looking at Altaïr?" She asked as she walked up beside him.

"I was wondering where you are from. I would think somewhere in Europe, but you have no accent that I recognize."

Samantha couldn't help but wonder why in the world he was wondering about that. "I'm not from Europe. Listen, in my time we have the entire world mapped out. In this time your cartographers and explorers have not even discovered where I am from."

"It is a hard notion to swallow," he confessed. "The idea that everything is so much larger that my knowledge is daunting to say the least."

Sam smiled slightly, he seemed just as human and out of place thinking about her time as she did living in his. The thought was comforting.

"We can talk about it some other time," She promised, sensing his discomfort in revealing so much to her. "We have more training to do right?" Sam smiled over at him, some of the numbness in her limbs had begun to wear off and her arms began to feel less like wet noodles.

She was surprised to find that Altaïr smiled back, "Indeed we do." The assassin climbed onto the edge of the railing and hopped over to the walkway of the castle wall where a few assassin guards were patrolling.

Sam jumped the small gap and followed closely behind Altaïr, pointedly keeping her gaze down and away from the piercing eyes of the other assassins. The two walked over to the ladder that they had originally climbed up and began to descend down it.

Sam sighed as they reached the bottom and cracked her neck, "So what's on the agenda?"

"Combat training," Altaïr walked ahead of her and down the slope to the training ring.

"With those men?" She asked worriedly.

"Who else?" He asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'll be slaughtered!" She protested as she gazed wide-eyed at the tall men who were beginning to roughly spar with each other. "Couldn't we just wait until those cute kids come back and then I could fight them?" She pleaded pathetically.

"You over exaggerate."

"And you are an evil man who only seeks to put me into as much danger as possible!"

"You would be the laughing stock of all assassins if you were to fight those boys."

"Better a laughing stock than beaten into a bloody pulp," she muttered.

"Altaïr!" A man called out as they walked up to the ring, "What can I help you with? Surely not training for yourself?"

"Rauf," Altaïr greeted the man by clapping him on the shoulder.

Sam looked at the assassin who had been observing the fighting going on in the ring and shouting instructions to the fighters accordingly. His uniform was much like hers and Altaïr's except his hood was grey and a mask covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes were almost the only thing visible and were dark and sparkling with fire and joy, displaying how much he enjoyed what he did. This, she assumed, was training assassins how to fight.

"My student," Altaïr placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward, "requires combat training."

The other assassin nodded and began scrutinizing her appearance. "He's slightly lanky, but that's nothing that age and training won't fix."

Sam tried to keep herself from frowning.

"Don't be too sure of that," Altaïr chuckled.

Rauf shrugged, "Either way we will find a place for him."

"When is the soonest that he can spar with one of your current trainee's then?"

"Fakih!" Rauf called out to the crowd of students. A young man stepped forward. "Get into the ring; you will be sparring," he paused for her input.

"Sam," she grunted, trying to sound as masculine as possible. She was sure that she sounded absolutely ridiculous.

"Sam," he repeated slowly.

Samantha observed the man who was scrambling over the wooden gate around the ring. He was probably a few years younger than her, a hood covered his head but his brown eyes were clearly darting nervously around. Fakih's body was nothing impressive either; his robes hung loosely off of his thin frame and wiry muscles could barely be seen beneath his sleeves.

With any luck she would hopefully be able to best him.

"Actually," Altaïr interrupted as she was about to climb into the ring, "I think Sam should spar Jabaar."

Sam looked back at the assassin questioningly.

"Are you sure?" Rauf's voice was full of concern.

"Of course, my student will be the best. Whether she likes it or not." He grumbled the last part to himself. Altaïr walked over to Sam just as she finished jumping over the fence. "Here," he unsheathed his sword and handed it over with the pommel facing towards her.

Sam grabbed onto the grip tightly and turned around to observe her new opponent that had just stepped into the ring. Jabaar was a much bigger man than the one she had hoped to fight. In fact, he was about two feet taller than she had hoped. His bulging muscles could be seen contracting underneath his sleeves as he easily swung his sword.

Sam tried swallowing but found that her mouth had gone dry. Altaïr's sword was heavy in her hands, but she couldn't back out now. Everyone around the training area was watching them with bated breath, wondering if Altaïr's novice could possibly survive against Jabaar.

She couldn't embarrass herself here.

Samantha shakily went into a sort of defensive stance; her feet spread apart and her legs bent at the knees so that she had better balance. Hopefully it would be enough to at least help her dodge and attack.

"You may begin when ready," Rauf called to them.

Before she could make any move towards him Jabaar charged at her, his sword flashing dangerously in the bright sunlight as it swung towards her. Sam reacted clumsily, unprepared for the onslaught of his attack, by sidestepping. The blade missed her by inches and Jabaar redirected its momentum so that it swung sideways at her. Her sword was barely up in time to meet his. A loud clang ensued and she could feel the impact reverberate up both of her arms.

After a few minutes of trying to overpower her he jumped back and took a defensive stance.

She didn't know if this was an invitation for her to attack, and if it was she had no clue how to go about it. Samantha knew she was supposed to look for a weak spot, a gap in his defense. It was then that she realized she was hopelessly out of her depth in this fight.

Sam started forward slowly, knowing that she couldn't just stand there and wait for something to happen. In the background she could hear the other assassins shouting incoherent words at them.

"Attack!" Altaïr's voice rang out above the crowd and startled her into motion.

She ran towards Jabaar. If she had even one advantage it was being small and quick on her feet, but now she needed to find a way in which to attack. Her sword came down towards his shoulder but was easily deflected downwards and away from his body. This parry left him with her defenses down and an open area to strike at. Jabaar didn't miss a beat and thrust his blade forward towards her middle. Sam held her breath as she skipped backwards and out of the reach of the sharp steel that would have otherwise left her dead or seriously wounded.

"Is that small boy your student, Altaïr?" A new condescending voice had joined the crowd. Sam's head turned to look at the man who was now standing next to Altaïr.

"Yes, Abbas, he is." Sam recognized the name as the one that Amy had mentioned was searching for Altaïr earlier that morning.

"Not much of a fighter, is he? Perhaps he should be working with the women in the kitchen instead?" Abbas chuckled at his own joke.

Sam was panting and listening to their ongoing conversation. Sweat poured down her face and into her eyes. Her body wanted to give out on her, to give up on all of this and to return home.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a massive figure rushing towards her. Sam turned herself around to face Jabaar who was running towards her with his sword at the ready. She held her sword up as she feigned a defensive stance and at the last second she dodged to the side. Jabaar tried to stop and turn towards her but he was off balance and tripped. His hulking figure crashed to the ground and the courtyard erupted into laughter at his expense. Sam smiled sheepishly as he fixed her with a glare that could have murdered. In fact, she could see the murderous intent in his gaze as he got to his feet and approached her with his sword held tightly in his hand.

Sam gulped and realized her mistake in provoking him. She slowly began backing away as he came closer until her back hit the fence encircling them. The men on the other side pushed her forward towards Jabaar.

Jabaar sliced towards her again and she ducked under his blade before spinning around him so that his back was facing her. He turned around quickly and, much to her dismay, kicked her sword out of her hand. Sam stood there, no better than a sitting duck, as he thrust his sword. This time he aimed for her neck. Something primal kicked in at that moment and she avoided the blade by dropping as low to the ground as possible. Jabaar was again on the defensive but had little time to react as she slammed her hand into his as hard as she could, causing him to drop his sword.

Her hand was throbbing but she was relieved that the fight was over. Moments later, though, she realized that the courtyard had become extremely silent. All of the calls of men had stopped. Even Altaïr's calls for her to find a rhythm in which to parry and then attack had stopped. She could only hear her own labored breath.

It was only when she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun that Samantha realized that her hood had somehow fallen back. The silence that filled the courtyard was unnerving and all eyes were on her.

"A woman!" Abbas' voice suddenly sliced through the silence.

The training area erupted into a cacophony of men shouting and climbing over the fence towards her.

"Grab her! She was impersonating a man!" Abbas shouted orders to the other men.

Sam scrambled to grab Altaïr's sword.

One of the men ran up to her and swung his sword towards her torso. Sam was ready this time and she knew that this was not a spar where her opponent would not kill her. She blocked his sword with her own and deflected it downward; with a swift kick to the groin the assassin was on his knees.

Samantha ran past the man ready for the next attack, it came from Abbas. Sam swung back her sword, fully ready to meet him head on. Before their swords could clash a hidden blade met her sword and a short sword met Abbas'.

"Altaïr! What is the meaning of this?" Abbas spat angrily.

"Abbas, Samantha's training has been ordered by Al Mualim."

The other assassin increased the pressure of his sword on Altaïr's, "This is an outrage!"

"Let me fight him Altaïr," Sam said lowly. If she would truly be killed because of pretending to be a man then she would rather die fighting.

Altaïr disarmed her with one swift movement of his hidden blade.

"Calm yourself," he told her softly, "keep a level head."

"You are one to speak of keeping a level head_,_" Abbas scoffed. "And _you__,_" he pointed a threatening finger at Sam after sheathing his sword, "you will not be an assassin for long." Abbas then stormed off, presumably to Al Mualim's tower.

"You fought well today Samantha."

Sam pushed past him without comment and he made no move to stop her.

* * *

><p>A few hours, after eating lunch, Altaïr began meandering around the fortress, vaguely wondering where Sam had gone. When he finally looked up to see where his feet had taken him he found himself in the gardens. A few groups of young women were dispersed in different areas around the well-kept courtyard. He approached them cautiously.<p>

"Have you seen a woman about this tall?" he held up his hand to about the height of his chin. "She has fair skin, blonde hair, wearing an assassin's garb."

"She passed through here a while ago in foul mood," one of the women sneered and pointed past the water fountain to a lower level.

Altaïr didn't thank the woman but brushed past her and made his way to where she had gestured.

He stood at the top of the stairs to find Sam sitting on the bottom landing with her legs in between the railings and looking out to the mountains.

Altaïr sat down next to her and after a moment he realized that she could not see him because the hood that she had put over her head blocked her peripheral vision. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

Sam jumped in surprise and her head whipped in his direction. "Altaïr," she acknowledged his presence and turned her head away to hide her face that was slowly being tinted pink in embarrassment.

Altaïr said nothing but turned to look out over the mountain ranges.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked after a moment. "Shouldn't you be backing up Abbas on why I shouldn't become an assassin?"

Altaïr rolled his eyes and sighed.

Sam paused before asking softly, "Do you think Abbas will succeed in convincing Al Mualim to drop me from training?"

The assassin hesitated before answering, knowing that anything was possible in this situation. "The master seemed certain that you had the potential to become an assassin. I see no way that Abbas could change his opinion on that."

Samantha heaved a deep sigh and let her head droop and shoulders slump forward. She was exhausted.

"Your training is over for today novice. Go meet up with Amy and eat, or sleep if you wish. Tomorrow we will be inside the library studying about the history of assassins."

"What has made you so kind all of the sudden?" Sam asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The assassin shrugged, "I have my moments, just do not waste them."

Samantha rose from her spot, "Well I certainly won't waste this one then."

Altaïr watched as she sprinted off up the hill and thanked him with a wave. After she had gone he turned back around to look off into the distance. He let his head rest on the cement railing. Sam had exceeded his expectations today, but she still had much to learn.


	9. Chapter 9

Final Edit-4/6/15

Chapter Nine: Something to remember

* * *

><p>Altaïr jolted awake; the dagger he kept under his pillow in hand. Sweat dripped down his unclothed torso. He noticed a shadowy figure in the doorway and blinked a few times to clear his vision. There stood Samantha, her long hair was down and fell over her shoulders in waves. She had a frown upon her face and one hand placed on her hip.<p>

"Are you alright?" She asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

The assassin rested his face in his free hand, feeling the slick sweat that coated it. He had dreamt of his father's death again.

"Altaïr?" Samantha inquired after he did not answer.

The assassin looked back up at his student, a frown was still etched onto her face.

"Leave me," Altaïr ordered, "I did not give you permission to enter my quarters, novice."

"Bad dreams are nothing to be ashamed of," her voice held no hint of teasing, in fact, Samantha had woken up from a nightmare about being caught and tortured by a Templar. She shuddered at the recollection of it.

Altaïr ignored her and sheathed his dagger. "Leave woman," he repeated after she had not moved from her spot against the doorframe.

Sam rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like 'men' under her breath before exiting the room and closing the door.

Altaïr drew a deep breath and got up from his pallet. His feet carried him to the window in his room and in one swift movement he drew back the blinds. He temporarily saw bright spots in his vision as sunlight beat down onto him.

"No wonder she had come to search for me," he mumbled and ran a hand through his messy hair, "it must be almost midday already!"

The assassin moved to grab a towel to dry the sweat off of his body and then began to don clothes. He took his hidden blade gauntlet and strapped it to his arm, then moved to grab his sword from the small weapon rack against the wall. Before sheathing the blade he reveled in the feeling of holding it in his hand. The blade had cut down many of his enemies, both Templar's and Saracens alike, and he knew it would serve to kill many more before his time was up. Altaïr sheathed his sword. He was proud to carry on his father's legacy as an assassin.

He wondered why he was training Samantha then. If he was as great as he thought then he shouldn't have been wasting his time with this task.

A knock then came at the door and it opened. Samantha peered in curiously. "Ah!" her face lit up into a smile, "The assassin is finally ready! Come on, Altaïr, we have history to learn!"

Altaïr grimaced as he realized he would be unable to rid himself this woman, or allow her to come to harm. Despite everything she seemed extremely pure of heart, noble, even. Too much like his father.

Altaïr followed the unusually chipper woman through the multiple hallways of the citadel. She seemed certain of her movements, as if she knew exactly where to go.

In fact, after Sam had finished her breakfast she had spent her time productively, learning the layout of the fortress. Repeatedly retracing her steps to ensure that she would not get lost any time soon.

"What has made you so content this morning novice?" Altaïr asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"You'd be surprised what a good night's sleep and not being rudely awoken by an assassin can do for a person." Sam flashed him a cheeky grin.

After a few more twists and turns in the hallway and down a flight of stairs they found themselves in the main entrance where the library, connected to Al Mualim's study, was. Malik and Amy had already been there for quite some time while Samantha had left to fetch Altaïr, and were both eagerly watching as their two friends walked up the stairs. They wondered if another argument had sprung up between the two. Sam still held the same cheery smile that she had left with and Altaïr did not seem as hostile as usual, so they assumed nothing had gone wrong.

"Amy, Samantha, please find these books on the shelves and bring them here." Malik ordered while giving them a list of a few book titles.

After the girls had left to a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room Malik addressed Altaïr who had just sat down in a seat across the wooden table from him. "You are uncharacteristically late, brother."

The other assassin shrugged. "I must not have heard the citadels bells that usually awaken me," he lied.

Malik nodded his understanding, but still eyed his companion suspiciously.

"So why is my novice in such high spirits today?" he asked, wanting an answer from someone other than her.

"There were no arguments between you two this morning then?" Malik smiled and leaned back in his chair.

Altaïr nodded. "None at all, I found it very odd."

"She claims to enjoy studying history," Malik explained, "and seems very interested in the history of assassins especially."

Altaïr 'Ah'-ed in understanding. He then watched his friend more closely. Malik's eyes shifted to the two women over at a bookshelf diligently looking for the tomes he had listed.

"But perhaps it is something more than that," he whispered.

"Speak plainly," Altaïr frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Amy came to my quarters crying in the middle of last night," Malik elaborated. "She told me that they are both very homesick. Perhaps Samantha just does not show it as plainly."

"That is why she had been in such a foul mood since arriving?" Altaïr hadn't considered this even once; he had been too caught up with himself.

"Both of these women's lives have been thrust into dangerous times," Malik added. "Samantha especially, with the weight of you being her mentor bearing down on her shoulders and the fear of being tossed out of the order it is a wonder she even has the motive to rise each morning."

The two assassins' conversation ended abruptly as Samantha and Amy sat a pile of books down on the rectangular table in front of them.

The two women took their seats next to their appointed mentor. Altaïr stood after Samantha had taken her seat and moved to the end of the table, mentally preparing a speech about the brotherhood.

"La shay' haqiqah, koulo shay' moumkin," he began. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted." Altaïr paused to let his words sink in. "What does this mean?" he asked rhetorically. "It is the way of the assassins, a way of life, open to your personal interpretation."

Samantha almost sighed, she would have liked their creed to be more structured with major rules or guidelines. Not to mention that it was extremely cynical.

"There are only three tenants that are to be followed. If broken, punishment will be executed in whatever way Al Mualim deems fit." Altaïr said seriously. "The three tenants are as follows: Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent."

Sam began to take mental notes, happy that there were at least some rules to be followed.

"Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd," the assassin continued, "and the last and most important tenant: Never compromise the brotherhood."

Amy nearly sighed, these were things that would apply more to Samantha than her.

"As an assassin it is _your_ duty to make sure that no innocent people come to harm under the power of those who are corrupt," he was now speaking directly to Samantha.

The novice nodded in understanding. Altaïr was now face to face with her and had stopped his pacing that he had kept up throughout his speech.

"Are you willing to sacrifice everything for the protection of others, novice?" The assassin asked, his eyes narrowing. "Are you willing to kill those who would cause pain and suffering to those who are helpless to protect themselves from it?"

"Of course," she answered honestly, "I will pour everything I have into this cause." Samantha was not one to idly stand by while others were suffering. Even in school she had stopped bullies from picking on kids weaker than them. It was the same concept, except now she would be putting her life on the line.

Altaïr was both impressed and intrigued by the smoldering dedication in the Samantha's eyes. He wondered if she truly had what it took to take another's life in order to restore peace. "You have the makings of an assassin," he whispered to her as he sat down, "just prove to me that you are worthy of the title."

Sam blinked in surprise of his acknowledgement. Before she could contemplate his change of attitude Malik had stood up to speak.

"Assassins begin as novices and slowly move up the chain of command as they gain more experience. Samantha, you will first start off doing research in an appointed city for signs of corruption. You will use the skills of spying, pick pocketing, and tailing people to reveal those who show the potential of being threats to the livelihood of the innocent. Once you gain enough information about the person of interest they will be marked for assassination by those of a higher rank. Once you reach a slightly higher rank than that you will perform both the research and assassination. Much later you will be given the information by one of a lower rank and then perform the assassination only.

"These books," Malik started a different conversation, "will aid you in the history of the war you two are entering in. There is also a history of previous assassins, and especially important is the book on herbs."

"Good afternoon," Al Mualim interrupted the rest of Malik's speech as he greeted them and walked up the flight of steps towards them.

The two women followed the assassins in standing up and bowing respectfully.

The master assassin returned the gesture and bade them continue as he walked past them to his study in the midst of the library.

"The history lesson is going well I hope?" he asked after he had sat down.

"Very well master, we are almost done," Malik answered.

"Good, good. Malik take Amy and Samantha to the infirmary to be instructed on how to properly bind wounds and mix healing elixirs. Altaïr and I have a few private matters to discuss."

The three of them grabbed their books and bowed before taking their leave. Samantha was halfway down the stairs when she looked back curiously at the two men. She found that Altaïr's eyes were already upon her and quickly turned her head and hurried down the rest of the stairs.

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><p>"How fairs her training?" Al Mualim asked after the trio had exited the room.<p>

Altaïr tore his eyes away from the spot where Samantha had stopped to look back at him. "Very well, she seems to be adapting fast to both free running and fighting. She took down Jabaar," he replied.

"No easy feat." The older assassin chuckled, but then his face grew grim, "Not long after that Abbas paid me a visit."

Altaïr's proud half-smile faltered. "Yes, I imagined he would."

"I personally do not mind if the other assassins know that Samantha is a woman."

The younger assassin breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"However, you know Abbas just as well as I."

"He would have her executed" Altaïr acknowledged.

"Naturally," Al Mualim sighed.

"You cannot let that happen."

The master raised an eyebrow at Altaïr's sudden change of heart. "You seem very adamant about this, please, speak your mind."

The assassin chose his words carefully, "I have seen the potential that you had guessed at is all."

Al Mualim seemed unfulfilled with this answer but did not press further.

"She will not be put to death. However, I suggest you watch her closely," the master assassin's tone was grim. "There is no telling what Abbas would do if he caught her alone. The consequences could prove fatal."

"What of Amy?" Altaïr inquired. "She has run into Abbas once accidentally."

"Luckily Abbas has not caught wind of her being closely related to Sam."

"Is there anything else you wish me to do master?"

Al Mualim rubbed his chin in thought before speaking, "Continue focusing Sam's training on free running and fighting. I feel that she will have the opportunity to make her first assassination soon."

"Master! It is much too early! She hasn't even received training on pickpocketing, throwing knives, assassination techniques, tailing, the list goes on and on!" Altaïr exclaimed exasperatedly.

His master shrugged. "As true as that may be I have a special assignment for her and Amy. Lightly touch on these subjects within the next few days and report back to me. I want Samantha ready to kill by the end of the week," he proclaimed.

Altaïr groaned inwardly. "Of course master, it will be done," he consented before bowing his head slightly downward.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Samantha and Amy were in the infirmary with Anass and Malik.<p>

"No, no, like this." Anass was having a bit of trouble teaching Samantha how to properly wrap a wound.

Amy giggled and looked back at Sam who had her arms crossed over her chest and was pouting. She was glad that tending the wounded was something she excelled at, and it didn't hurt that she could rub it in her friends face too.

Samantha watched as Anass showed her once more on an injured assassin how to wrap a sword wound. She felt bad for him, she had spent nearly twenty minutes wrapping and rewrapping his arm, hoping to get it right. Sam groaned as he passed out from either the pain or blood loss. She should have never been trusted with this.

Anass sighed at his student. "Alright who is next?" he asked a few of the assassins who were sitting and waiting for their minor injuries to be wrapped.

Each of the assassins in question took turns looking at each other and back at Sam. They each came to the same conclusion and shook their heads vigorously. None of them wanted her to treat them.

Anass sighed again as Amy and Malik shared another bout of laughing. "Perhaps we should go on to mixing ingredients."

Even after everyone had left for dinner Sam remained in the infirmary practicing a coagulant solution meant to stop bleeding before bandages would be applied. However, each time she tried something was missing. She just couldn't put her finger on it. Samantha leaned over the wooden table to look at the herb book that Amy had brought from the library.

"I thought I might find you here."

Sam whirled around to face Altaïr.

"What are you doing here?" She asked venomously due to the fact that he had snuck up on her once more.

The assassin held his hands up in surrender, "Is it wrong for me to check up on my novice?" He shot her a sly smile.

Sam sighed. "No, I suppose not."

She turned back to the book to continue studying the ingredients needed.

Altaïr walked up beside her. "How fairs your studies of healing?"

"Not so well," Sam was becoming aggravated by his distracting presence.

"Why is that?" The assassin moved to lean against the table.

"There is something wrong every time I try to make _this_," she jabbed at the recipe with a powder covered finger.

"Ah," he acknowledged. "Malik has always been more of a master at these things, but I remember this poultice well. Would you like my assistance?"

Samantha looked at him skeptically, "Anass has already shown me how to concoct it. He just said that I would have to practice."

"How well has that worked so far?" A slight smirk graced his lips as he peered around the cluttered mess she had created. "Once more I will ask, would you like my help, novice?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Sure, why not?"

Altaïr took off his bracers and began rolling up his sleeves. "When I was a novice I had the same problem with mixing herbs," he admitted, "I was far too impatient."

Samantha stepped aside to give him access to the ingredients. "Funny, my mom always said that about my cooking," she muttered.

"Pace yourself then," he moved to set a kettle over the fire burning in the fireplace in the corner.

"Easier said than done." Sam began putting the dry ingredients together in the bowl one at a time, taking great care in putting just the right amount of each in.

"Better," Altaïr said as he approached her. "Why is it you seem so frustrated?" He asked after seeing her sour expression.

"Amy is much better than this than I am. I just don't see the point in it when I should be training in sword fighting or something."

She watched as Altaïr leaned against the table next to her. "This is just as important. What would you do if Amy was injured and nothing could help but a poultice that you were supposed to learn and did not?"

Samantha shifted uncomfortably. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"I do."

The kettle began to whistle just then and Sam rushed to go retrieve it. She had simply been frustrated when she had said that she shouldn't need to know about this, but now she regretted every word. Altaïr had lost a friend because of his ignorance and now she felt extremely guilty for complaining. Her hands were careful as she poured just the right amount of water into the mix. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like to lose Amy, and that was why she had to get this right.

"Stir it slowly," Altaïr ordered as she picked up a wooden spoon, "it will not set correctly if it begins to froth."

She did as she was told, slowly moving the spoon around until the ingredients had mixed with the water and thickened into the dark green paste that the book had described.

"Well done," the assassin complimented as he looked over her handiwork. "Much better than before," he indicated the bowls of discarded tan looking concoctions.

Samantha breathed a soft sigh of relief and went to close the book beside Altaïr. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I did not mean to dredge up your past."

Altaïr put a hand on her shoulder to turn her around. "It was my own mistake and I would not want to see you needlessly repeat it."

"Thank you for helping me." She was still ashamed of what she had said but was extremely thankful that he had bothered to help her.

Perhaps when he got annoyed at her again she would remember this moment and remember that Altaïr had gone through much more than he let on.


	10. Chapter 10

Final Edit on 4/13/15

Please review! I always need reviews to help motivate me!

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><p>Chapter Ten: Information Thief<p>

The rest of the week had been an exhausting blur for Samantha. The first few days she and Altaïr had spent doing non-stop free running exercises and more often than not she would lay in her room unable to sleep due to aching muscles.

Towards the end of the week there was a shift in her everyday training to include skills that required more finesse. Pick pocketing had been the hardest for the woman and she was often caught with her hand in a pouch by the other novices that she had been training with. By the end of the week she had gotten the technique down to where she was caught only once or twice. Eavesdropping was also one of her more difficult lessons. Samantha found it tricky to weed out all other conversations going on around her and then pinpoint the voices of those she needed to hear. Occasionally she would have to get off of the allotted benches and move slightly closer to the targets while trying to look busy.

Altaïr had spent their last day in Masyaf teaching her where to strike with a dagger to make a clean kill and how to sneak up on an opponent. The idea of ending another human being's life was sickening, but she told herself that the people she would be killing deserved it. Samantha also discovered, much to her dismay, that she would not have her own hidden blade until she had reached Altaïr's rank. Apparently this required her to complete many successful missions and to gain the approval of Al Mualim. The ceremony also included the removal of her ring finger. Sam had looked forward to receiving the weapon up until that particular point.

During the week she had not seen much of Amy but would meet up with her, and sometimes Malik, for dinner. Her friend would tell her of what amazingly useful herbs this century had and how they would cure things as compared to during their time.

Altaïr did not join them during their dinners, which was just fine with her. She saw the grumpy assassin almost all hours of the day and the evenings were the one time she had to herself and she wanted to keep it that way.

On the days when Samantha did not feel like collapsing on her pallet she would wander around the village below the fortress and observe what wares the shopkeepers had imported. Other times she would walk around in the library picking up books here and there to peruse through.

The thing that Samantha loved most about her first week in Masyaf had to be the view of the surrounding land. She had claimed the lowest terrace of the gardens as her resting area. Sam would gaze up at the mountains jutting into the cloudless pink skies during the evening, or down below to the crystal clear waters of the river winding through the land.

One thing she could do without, however, was the heat. Each day seemed hotter than the last and no clouds blocked any of the sunlight. Sam had begun to wonder if it ever rained at all. One day she had even searched for the coolest part of the fortress and found it was the wine cellars that were dug deep into the earth to keep the wine cool. It was childish of her, but the cellar was a little too dark and creepy for her taste and she never returned.

Her experiences were both good and bad but time went on and the week ended. Samantha now found herself in the bureau of Damascus. Returning to the city where she and Amy had first arrived had been surreal, but the city itself held little interest for her. She would have preferred to stay in Masyaf where at least the towers had gusts of wind blowing through them.

"It's not even a humid heat," Sam was complaining as she sat by the fountain near the entrance of the bureau, "it's a dry heat. It's even worse!"

"Sam you complaining about the heat isn't going to make it less hot," Amy whined as she fanned herself with a piece of parchment that she had taken and folded up.

The blonde groaned in response as she threw herself onto one of the pillows lying on the carpet. "I wish Altaïr and Malik would hurry up and give me my mission so that we can go back to Masyaf."

"Looks like you won't have to wait much longer," Amy commented as she noticed the two assassins standing in the doorway.

Sam stood to face her mentor, fully ready to get her mission underway. All of the training that week had given her a newfound confidence. She knew better than to think that she was a master assassin, but also understood that Al Mualim would not give her a mission that he did not deem her ready for.

"Normally novices would not perform an assassination so-"

"Early in their training, you've reminded me on multiple occasions," Samantha interrupted impatiently.

She received a withering glare. "You will do well to wait until your mentor is done speaking novice," Altaïr growled in warning.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest and frowned while tapping her foot impatiently, but kept her mouth shut.

"As I was saying, you should not being doing this so soon, but Al Mualim insists that it is a special mission specifically for you and Amy to prove your loyalty."

Samantha had been wondering why Amy had to come along on this mission. She was afraid of putting her in danger again, but at least felt confident that now she could protect her friend if she had to.

"You will spend today collecting information on your target and then perform the assassination tomorrow," Altaïr finished.

"Wait I'm not doing it today?" Sam asked as her attention snapped back to the conversation.

Altaïr clenched his fist trying to calm himself, "Weren't you listening?"

"Yes, yes, calm down," she waved him off.

The assassin glared but she simply sent him a teasing smile. Sometimes it was almost too easy for her to annoy him.

Samantha walked past the two men and into the main room where the Rafiq was painting a clay pot. He sent her a nod of acknowledgement and she inclined her head in return. The blonde then quickly grabbed an inkwell, quill, and scrap piece of parchment before looking over at Altaïr who was watching her from the doorway. "What was my targets name again?"

"Asham Ragoul," the assassin repeated and looked at her skeptically as she went to write it down.

"Could you spell that?" she asked and tried not to smile as Altaïr tensed his muscles in anger.

The warning look that Malik shot her from over the other assassins shoulder told her not to push him any further.

"Alright, alright," she said mockingly as she walked over and patted Altaïr's shoulder, "don't get all worked up."

The assassin had obviously become fed up with her antics so she rushed to the exit of the bureau and climbed onto the lattice roof before he could attempt to catch her. Samantha then stuck her head down to say goodbye to Amy, Malik, and Altaïr. "Don't miss me too much!" she called down to them before running off to jump onto another roof.

Sam stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath of air before covering her head with her hood. It was her first time recovering information for a mission, not to mention her first time roaming freely through the city of Damascus.

The woman took a look at a few of the landmarks around the area to remember for when she would return to the bureau before taking off, jumping and running from rooftop to rooftop with purpose.

Altaïr had told her once they had entered the city to look for what he called a "viewpoint", or a tall tower where she could get a good view of the city. He pointed one out to her just outside of the bureau and she noted a large bird of prey circling near the top of it.

Her eyes spotted the same tall tower to the west. In a few minutes time her feet had carried her to the base of the tower. Already Sam could feel sweat trickling down her face and she impatiently wiped it away. The sooner she got information, the sooner she could return the shade of the bureau.

Samantha rubbed her gloved hands together and began her steady ascent to the top. The climb felt like it had taken hours and she was actually thankful for the many times that Altaïr had made her scale the tall towers around Masyaf fortress to help train her.

The top of the tower drew nearer, and at such a height the wind blew strongly and billowed her white robes around her. Samantha was glad that there was a landing as well as railing at the top as it allowed her a moments rest before she would have to continue onwards. She removed her hood, grateful of the brief reprieve from the heat of the rooftops.

After a moment she decided it was time to venture out to the ledge of the tower to see what she could. Her feet edged out onto the thin wooden plank and she prayed that she would be able to concentrate on details of the city without plummeting to her death.

Samantha's eyes swept over the ground below her and she forced herself to ignore the height. She could determine what area was the rich district by the colorful rooftop tiles shimmering in the afternoon sun and which was the poor district based on the shabbier buildings. Her eyes closed and she gripped onto the wood below her to keep from swaying. Sam focused on trying to hear snippets of conversation below her.

The drunken babbling of a man floated up. A poor woman was begging for money. Street urchins were fighting over a scrap of food. The cacophony of the city blurred together until something that could help her reached her ears, a conversation in the small marketplace below.

Samantha knew she would have to move quickly in order to get to a better vantage point. The cart of hay was far below her and she made an effort to try to not psych herself out. In one swift motion she pushed off of the plank with the toes of her boots and pitched forward into the air.

Sam let out a deep sigh of relief when she felt herself hit the pile of hay. Doing the leap of faith more than once didn't help the fact that every time there was a chance she might die.

She still had to hurry though, and she jumped out of the cart and quickly pushed her hood back over her head since it was still much safer for people to think she was a man. As Sam walked she brushed pieces of hay from her robes and navigated to the nearby market.

As she arrived Sam scanned the area in search of the two men she had heard speaking. At once her eyes were drawn to two men whispering conspiratorially to each other near the edge of the small vicinity.

Samantha walked around the edge of the crowd and along the walls of the surrounding buildings to reach a nearby bench. Two women whose faces were shrouded in cloth sat on the edge of the bench leaving Samantha the edge furthest from the men to sit.

The women seemed to take no notice of her and continued with their conversation about some man one of them was seeing. Sam attempted to concentrate on the conversation of the men a few feet away. Unfortunately the two women next to her had erupted into bouts of squealing and giggling.

Samantha wrestled with herself to focus on the task at hand but quickly snapped. She sprung from the bench, knowing that she could waste no time in finding another place to blend in. Her feet took her past the two men and around the corner of a building. The voices of the men were easily heard even over the din of the marketplace and she knew that she had made the right choice in leaving the bench.

"That brat has been a menace to the city his whole life."

"His father has given him everything he has wanted since birth. You cannot expect him to level with those less fortunate."

The first man snorted, "Less fortunate, indeed. Ever since inheriting his father's business we have been left with little while he takes all of the profit for himself."

"Enough, we should not speak any more of this matter while here."

The two men said goodbyes and presumably parted ways.

Samantha stood there for a moment to mull over the meager information she had just received. Obviously she was in the poor district of Damascus and Asham was some sort of noble. From what she had heard he took most of the money that people were working hard for which, she reasoned, is why the order wanted him dead.

She quickly decided that the rich district would have to be her next stop.

As she walked she wished, not for the first time, that she had some sort of map. It would have been easier than trying to get back onto the roofs in order to reorient herself. It surprised her, but the streets were actually more enjoyable than free running over the city. The streets were alive and thrummed with an unseen energy. People gossiped, they sold their wares, they rushed about doing daily chores. The whirlwind of it all excited her and she wanted nothing more to be swept away in the crowd to see what the city had to offer. All of it distracted Samantha from her mission.

It was not all for nothing, though. As she walked she saw the squalor that some lived in and it sent pangs of guilt into her heart. She knew that there were rich nobles like the one she was hunting living in this very city who had plenty enough money to give to these people. It was these thoughts that pulled her mind back to the task at hand.

As Samantha continued walking she realized that she had become hopelessly lost. She was beginning to tire and the hot sun and crowded streets were beginning to cause a lethargic weight to crash upon her. She settled herself under a shady ledge of a building to attempt to cool down. Her eyes closed and she rested there a moment.

Even by just listening to her surroundings Sam could tell that she had reached her destination. She could hear talk of exotic silk, spices, and jewelry coming from the vendors as well as their patrons.

She resumed her search.

"You there! You look like a strapping young man! Would you be interested in buying this beautiful, hand crafted rose pendant? Any woman would love the man who gave her it!"

Samantha kept her head down and walked determinedly through the market. The vendors were a minor nuisance but one that she had precious little time for. It was difficult, but she managed to walk around the market three times in about a half an hour. She was about to give up when a voice from the other side of a stall piqued her interest. Sam peeked her head around the corner to get a look at the man who had spoken and she pinpointed him as the younger of the two men standing there.

"Hassim, what is it you have for me?" A second voice that belonged to a man in his late thirties asked. He was dressed more humbly than the first man but was still obviously wealthy.

"My master, Asham Ragoul, wishes for his order to be placed immediately and to arrive tomorrow at the destination in this letter." The younger man was dressed in fine silken robes, ones which price would have probably fed a family for weeks.

"Of course, anything for the finest man in this city," the man bowed low.

"Your flattery will get you nowhere old man," the younger spat, "now go on with your business and make sure that this letter gets to the right people."

"Of course," the man bowed low again and scurried off into the market.

Sam knew that she would have to get that letter, and there was no place better than in a crowded market.

She began to tail the man as he rushed through groups of nobles, looking back every so often as he did. It occurred to her that he might know he was being followed, but the idea was preposterous. Samantha knew that she was doing everything just as Altaïr had instructed her to. She always walked behind others and acted as inconspicuous as she could; there was absolutely no way that should would be found by a backwards glance.

Her prey continued onwards and she hung back as long as she could, waiting for the perfect opportunity to show itself. She made her move when the man entered a tight crowd of people where there would be no way that he would take note of someone even brushing up against him. The finesse required to pickpocket someone was immense and she knew that she hadn't had enough time to practice before leaving Masyaf. At this point she was just praying that she had chosen the right moment to move and that she could get the letter without drawing attention to herself.

Luck was on her side that day. Samantha had easily nudged through the crowd of people, timed her reach perfectly, and clasped tightly onto the paper before slipping it out of the man's pouch. Sam turned on her heel and retreated as quickly as she could while tucking the letter into a pouch on her belt.

Her nervous pulse was still thudding in her ears and she forced herself to breathe normally. She was immensely proud of herself and a small part of her hoped that Altaïr would be too. Despite all of his glares and disparaging remarks she still cared for her mentor's opinion; especially since she was trying to prove to both Altaïr and herself that she could become an assassin.

Samantha wasn't sure how many clues about her target she was supposed to get. She knew that he was detrimental to the community as well as where something would be delivered to him and she supposed that was enough. If it wasn't then she would go back out tomorrow and postpone the assassination.

The sun was getting low on the horizon and she decided to head back to the bureau before it became too dark for her to navigate through the city. She managed to ignore the amazed gasps of passerby's as she crawled to the top of a roof. A light breeze pulled at her hood as she ran and she threw it back, figuring that she wouldn't need it as long as she was off the streets.

It was much easier to tell where she was from higher up and Sam quickly determined that the bureau was back to the east. Her feet took her unerringly across roofs and over walkways; the fact that she hadn't messed up once today was a major confidence boost. Her heart felt as if it was soaring which made the trip feel much faster and before she knew it she had jumped off of the roof and into the bureau.

Night had now fallen upon Damascus and more lanterns and candles were lit within the building than there had been in the daytime. Upon her entrance to the main room she was tackled into a hug.

"You did it! I bet you found a bunch of information!" Amy squealed excitedly as she clung to her friend.

Samantha couldn't help but to let a giggle escape from her lips.

"What did you learn of your target?" Malik asked as Amy released her.

"Well he's a noble's son who inherited his father's business and is now reaping most of the benefits for himself, leaving little for those of lesser standings," She recited.

"Do you know what his whereabouts will be as of tomorrow? What of your plans to assassinate this man?" Altaïr, of course, doubted that she had fully completed her task.

"I will," Samantha dug the letter she had stolen out from her pouch.

Sam opened the letter and began to read, her eyes silently skimming over the words. "The letter gives the exact location he will be tomorrow with a detailed map. Asham will be in the rich district," she finally told them, her expression suddenly sour, "and he ordered whores."

"Is that why Al Mualim wanted us to do this mission?" Amy questioned, rounding on Malik as she did.

Malik took the scroll that Samantha shoved into his hands. "Your target is constantly guarded except for when he is with women," he explained, "you will simply have to get him alone, nothing more."

Samantha wanted to be more upset but his logic was solid. She would simply have to swallow her pride for the sake of this assassination.


	11. Chapter 11

Final Edit 4/15/15

Reviews are always appreciated!

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><p>Chapter 11: Wicked eyes and wicked hearts<p>

Sleep that night had been almost nonexistent for Amy, and she wondered how Samantha could be sleeping so soundly next to her before her first assassination. The redhead rolled over to face the tan colored wall that was bathed in moonlight. She wished, not for the first time, that she had never went to that museum with Samantha. Amy reminded herself that it was not her friends fault, and that she probably missed home just as much as she did. Home had good food, comfortable beds, air conditioning, and most of all the feeling of safety. Not once since arriving in this time had she felt safe, she always felt the need to look over her shoulder to search for danger. There was no reprieve from this feeling. She was jealous of Sam's soft snores and wished she could close her own eyes and drift into the black nothingness of sleep.

Amy continued to turn the plans of the next day over in her mind. The two assassins had made it clear enough that they did not have to sleep with the target, but only had to lull him into a false sense of security until Sam had the opportunity to strike. It sounded easy enough and yet she still had her worries. What if the target realized that they were assassins? What if Sam slipped up? What if they were caught by guards? What if they were killed?

There were so many what ifs.

It was early in the morning before Amy's mind had had enough and shut down. Her eyes gradually closed and she drifted off into sleep.

Sam awoke early, however, just before the sun began to rise over the city. After her uninterrupted night of sleep she was refreshed and ready to go. Her eyes searched for Amy who she found curled up near the wall, still asleep. The woman decided to give her friend some more time to rest before waking her up.

Samantha washed her face quickly in the basin in their room and then made her way to the main room of the bureau. Altaïr, Malik, and the Rafiq were already awake and speaking about some political matters in hushed voices until they took notice of Sam.

"Good morning everyone," she greeted cheerily.

She received a 'good morning' from Malik and the Rafiq and a silent nod of acknowledgment from Altaïr. The three men then dispersed from their places near each other in the room. Malik moved to wake Amy up, and Altaïr threw an apple in Sam's direction which she caught and began to munch on it. The Rafiq moved behind his desk and began to put minute touches on a map drawn intricately across a large piece of parchment.

After a few moments Amy shuffled into the room followed by Malik. She rubbed her bleary eyes, attempting to rid herself of the remains of sleep while moving to slouch into a chair that had been placed against the back wall.

"Didn't sleep well?" Sam asked with a touch of concern.

Amy waved her off. "I'll be fine, the sooner we finish this the sooner I can rest easy."

"We shall begin as soon as you are dressed and ready," Altaïr said and threw the two women a bundle of clothes, "there is a covering included so that we may walk to the rich district unhindered."

By this time Sam had finished her apple and disposed of it and Amy was too nervous to do anything other than to get ready.

"Amy you're shaking," Sam commented as they began to don clothes in a separate room.

"Can't really blame me, can you? I mean, I never expected any of this," she mumbled in reply.

Samantha had just finished buttoning the last toggle on her loose outer covering that reached just past her ankles and turned to her friend. "Neither of us expected this," she put a comforting hand on Amy's shoulder.

"I know, I'm sorry." Amy exhaled a deep breath.

Sam smiled and playfully punched her friends shoulder. "Hey, it's not like you'll be doing any of the hard work."

Her friend rolled her eyes before unfolding her clothes. "Sam, do you think this is this century's version of makeup?"

Samantha looked over to what her friend was holding. There was a box full of a cream looking powder, another full of a thick red substance, and a stick of kohl to line their eyes. "Interesting, want to give it a try?"

The two women spent a little extra time trying out the makeup and helping each other. Sam was glad of it since the simple act made her feel as if she could be back home and getting ready to leave her house.

"Are you two done so that we may proceed?" Asked an impatient voice on the other side of the door.

Sam sighed and the illusion was broken. Amy adjusted her outer dress and pulled open the door.

"Go and see the Rafiq," Altaïr ordered.

Samantha strode down the hallway, the slipper shoes she was wearing padding softly on the floor.

The Rafiq looked up as she arrived in front of his desk. He placed a white feather before her, "The best of luck to you, novice. Safety and peace."

"Safety and peace, Rafiq," She replied and retrieved the feather.

Sam turned to face Altaïr and he nodded slightly. The group of four exited the bureau through the side entrance and found themselves on a busy street of vendors.

"Stay behind us at least a few feet," Malik reminded, "keep your eyes downcast and your hoods up."

The two women nodded their understanding and they began walking down the street. Both women found it hard to keep their eyes towards the ground while trying to track where they were going. The trip was wholly unpleasant, luckily the bureau in the city was not all too far from the rich district if one knew where to go and what areas to avoid.

Amy did want to get this over with, but she wasn't looking forward to it.

Sam, unbeknownst to Amy, was also worried about her assassination. She was allowing her friend to walk into unnecessary danger. She wanted to be an assassin but she was worried that she would be unable to end this man's life no matter how awful he was.

Those men in the market had obviously been hurting financially for a long time under the greedy rule of this man. If she could kill him maybe, just maybe, a difference could be made and righteousness would prevail.

All rationale aside, she was still deeply afraid of killing another human being. Soldiers had been traumatized in war after killing other soldiers and she was willingly going to kill this man, whom she had never even met, in cold blood.

Sam noticed that Altaïr and Malik had stopped in front of a tall, ornate building. Tiles of blue and yellow accentuated its roof and were made into a pattern that very much resembled the sun reflecting off of the ocean. Sam noted that escape would be difficult if the curved tiles were as slippery as they looked.

She did not have much time to examine the rest of the building in its entirety. Two men in light armor stood guard outside the entrance and were now engaged in conversation with Malik who had produced the paper that Sam had stolen the day before.

Altaïr and Malik had surprisingly not dressed in their assassin's robes, but instead wore thick robes of red with a gold sash around their waists. She hadn't had much time to look them over before they had left but she assumed that they had the clothing for blending in with nobles of the city. All weapons accounted for, each man had a short sword that hung on their waists, daggers in each of their boots, and a hidden blade covered by their long baggy sleeves.

"Sirs," Sam heard one of the guards whisper hurriedly, "our master did not expect you to come yourselves."

Samantha's palms began to sweat; already there was a flaw in the plan.

"We would not trust anyone else with the task."

Sam thanked the stars that Malik was quick on his feet.

"Very well then," one of the guards nodded, "we should not keep our master waiting."

Both Altaïr and Malik nodded.

"Come whores," Altaïr spat and took Sam by the upper arm with more force than was necessary. Had she not known better she would have almost believed in his conviction.

Sam and Amy were swept into the house. The foyer was nothing special, the floor consisted of dirty slate and a decorated pot that sat on a pedestal in the corner was the only ornamentation.

Near the end of the hall the guards took a sharp right and unlocked a door. The next hallway was much more impressive. Pure white tiles that looked as if no one had ever set foot on them decorated the floor and brightly colored tapestry's depicted what looked to be a harem of women bathing in crystal clear pools.

Sam rolled her eyes; erotic art was popular even in this century.

Other than that the hallway was fairly short with a 'door' consisting of maroon curtains with gold tassels at the bottom. Sam didn't like it. It was close quarters and she felt that escape out the front door would be just as hard as on the roof, assuming that there was even a window leading onto the roof. Her only chance in this hallway would be to bottleneck the guards.

Sam ceased her planning as one of the guards went through the curtain and closed them again, leaving the rest of the party standing within the hall.

Sam looked over to Amy who was nervously glancing back and forth between Malik and the erotic tapestry.

She then wondered what Altaïr was thinking. A quick look at his face betrayed nothing to her other than that he wore the scowl that was ever present on his face. At least he had no hood hiding his face now. Sam quickly tried to recall if she had ever even seen his face before.

Altaïr noticed her staring and shot her a glare to get her to stop. Samantha took one last look at his messy brown hair and piercing eyes before lowering her gaze once more just as the guard returned through the curtain.

"My master will see you now."

The group entered the room flanked by the two guards.

Sam had never put much thought into what the man she would be killing would look like, but the man before her looked nothing like what she would have pictured. He was younger than she had imagined, perhaps in his early twenties. He was not terrible to look at and was, in all actuality, fairly attractive. His shaggy black hair looked roguish despite his heritage, and thick stubble remained on his face from days of not shaving.

His clothing betrayed his status. The man wore silky violet pants that hugged his legs closely and a golden sash was tied around his waist. A bright red vest covered some of his torso, but was undone so as to accentuate his toned abdomen.

Sam knew the handsome man for what he was despite his pleasant appearance. He was vain, and a thief who reaped the benefits that others should have been receiving.

"My good sirs!" The target welcomed Altaïr and Malik with open arms. "My guard has told me of your presence." A charming smile crossed his face.

"We wished only to deliver them ourselves." Samantha could tell that Malik was keeping talk to a minimum.

"Rest assured, they are in good hands." A lusty grin twisted the targets face unpleasantly and made Sam sick to her stomach.

She returned her gaze to the floor. Samantha hated this mission, the sooner it was over the happier she would be.

"We leave you then," Altaïr and Malik bowed slightly at their waist and were escorted from the room by one of the guards.

Samantha wished that they would have at least looked back and sent her a reassuring look. She knew that it would have aroused suspicion but she needed the comfort right then.

"Do you require anything else master?" The remaining guard asked.

"You may go, and be sure that I am not bothered." The grin never left the targets face as he dismissed his guard.

Sam took note of her surroundings as Asham plopped himself onto a feather bed in the center of the room. The floor beneath her feet was purple plush carpet and was definitely expensive. On the left side of the room was a doorway covered by the same type of curtain that they had entered through, and on the right, to Sam's relief, was a window leading onto the roof with sheer curtains billowing slightly in a breeze.

Despite the window the room was fairly dim with candles creating most of the light. In the corner on a dresser incense was burning, leaving the space enveloped within a thick musky smell. She was almost positive it was meant to create a sensual atmosphere. On the back wall was another erotic tapestry, though more explicit than the one in the main hallway. It seemed to depict an orgy with men and women entwined in various positions, crying out in ecstasy.

Her attention was pulled away from the uneasy feelings building within her.

"Come now ladies don't be shy," the target opened his arms invitingly.

Sam sent Amy a brief look. Logic would say that Amy should be pulling the targets' attention away from Samantha, but her plan was slightly different than that. Amy would only provide a slight distraction to minimize the chances that she would be harmed during the assassination. Samantha would be the one distracting Asham in order to move in close and hide her ulterior motives

Amy had now taken off her outer covering and stripped to the skimpy clothing the assassins had provided them with. She moved behind the target on the bed and slowly began to knead his shoulders.

Sam took a deep breath, her eyes she kept downcast, and began to slowly unbutton her own covering. She didn't have to have sex with this man, but she did have to convince him that she was a whore.

The clothing that the assassins had given them reminded her of the belly dancers of her time. The top was maroon, with gold coins dangling from the bottom that stopped just below her breasts. Her bottoms were black and covered no more than underwear would and she had a sheer maroon scarf that acted as a makeshift skirt with the same gold coins hanging from it.

"Now that is a sight to see!"

Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she could practically feel the targets greedy eyes roving over her exposed body.

Sam slowly began to walk closer, her eyes remained obediently trained on the ground. She could feel the hard knife sheathed in the band on her bottoms pressing firmly against her back as she walked. It gave her a small measure of comfort.

She was now within a reach of her target.

"Now, why do your avert your gaze my newest summer nymph?" The target gently tilted her face up so that her eyes met his.

They were not what she had expected. His eyes were much like the piercing gaze of her masters', and were a similar golden-brown hue as well. It was unnerving. Though everything about this man and Altaïr were different it was as if he was sitting before her. She quickly averted her gaze from the man, unable to stare into his eyes any longer.

With a bit of force Sam pressed her hand against her targets chest and pushed him to lie down on the bed. Asham showed no signs of protest, and indeed, seemed quite glad that it appeared as if he would be bedded soon.

Sam's blonde hair brushed against her target's chest as she crawled to straddle his waist. She would now be very close to his exposed throat. Asham's body responded quickly to her close proximity and Samantha gently brushed her hand down his chest and towards his pants. Amy then began to stroke his hair soothingly and did well to whisper sweet words into his ear to keep him distracted.

Asham slid his smooth hands up Sam's thigh and she quickly decided that this had already gone too far for her liking. She leaned forward slightly to press herself further onto his hand so he could not easily move it. Her right hand found the hilt of her knife behind her back and she slowly began to unsheathe it while sending Amy a quick look to notify her that she was about to act.

Amy covered the targets mouth with her hand so that he could not call for help. Sam then pulled her blade from behind her back and pressed it to the man's neck. A look of sudden fear and realization crossed his face.

No words were uttered as she sliced through the exposed flesh of the man's neck.

Red instantly began to run from the deep cut and he began to choke on his own blood. Amy removed her hand to avoid getting the red liquid on herself as it began to run from his mouth. Sam watched in both horror and pride as the light faded from her target's eyes, leaving them devoid of feeling or knowledge.

Sam let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding as she looked up to Amy. As a medical student she didn't seem to mind all of the blood that stained the once tan sheets while Samantha willed herself to ignore the gore as she wiped her blade clean and sheathed it.

The woman got off of the dead man and retrieved the white feather from the back strap of her top. Sam let out a sigh as she dragged the feather through her victim's blood and allowed the red to stain the purity of the feather. She suddenly realized how symbolic the simple action was.

All seemed to be going well but it didn't remain that way for long. The curtain on the left side of the room had been long-forgotten, but now opened wide to reveal two women that were dressed in similarly revealing clothing. Conceivably some of Asham's other lovers.

They instantly began to scream at the sight of the dead body and rushed to leave the room.

"Shit," Sam mumbled.

"And I had thought this was going so well," Amy agreed.

One of the guards who had been standing watch behind the entrance curtain burst through it, surveyed the room for a sign of trouble, and quickly found it.

Sam tucked the bloodied feather into her waistband and unsheathed her knife once more.

"Abda!" The guard cried to another as he drew his sword.

Sam could hear footsteps from the other guard running down the corridor. She began to push Amy towards the window.

"Listen, you are going to have to climb out the window while I keep them distracted," she mumbled.

"What about you?" Amy whispered back, "will you be alright?"

The other guard had now joined the first in the doorway and had drawn his sword.

Another push had Amy onto the windowsill.

"Use the gutter on the roof, the tile will be too slippery to run on. Get down on the streets as soon as you can and meet Malik at the rendezvous point and tell him what has happened. He'll think of something." Sam's orders for Amy had been given and her friend nodded, understanding that by staying she would be hindering rather than helping her friend.

Amy departed carefully and Samantha was left in the room with the two guards and her recently deceased target.

"Drop your weapon, whore!" One of them shouted.

"Raise the alarm!" Cried the other.

Sam swore and debated going out of the window as well. It seemed a good enough plan as long as she led the two men in the opposite direction that Amy had gone.

She made for the window and onto the roof while the guards dashed across the room to follow.

On the roof Sam could see that the sun was at its zenith and the streets were overly crowded. There was no way to avoid drawing attention now. Samantha grasped onto the ledge above the roof that led to a rounded spire.

Carefully she pulled herself up and felt her arms protest at the effort. She made it onto the small ledge and began to edge counterclockwise around it. One of the guards looked up and noticed her. He sheathed his sword and began his ascent to the ledge to follow her while the other guard was lined up to do the same. Sam would have been glad that they were not attempting to follow Amy had she not been in such danger.

Luckily she did not have a poor master, and she made it to the other side of the roof in much better time than the guards. Unfortunately, though, they were not far behind. The gutter on the first tier of the roof was now much further away than it had been at the window, and Sam had to jump a few feet down in order to reach it. Her slippers were slick against the tiles that she had warned Amy of and she slid faster down them than anticipated. Once her foot struck the gutter she was thrown off balance.

Three things happened simultaneously: Sam dropped the only weapon that she possessed at the moment, she was barely able to catch hold of the ledge of the gutter with her hands before plummeting to the ground below, and the first guard made it to the edge of the spire.

Sam saw that she could either climb back up onto the roof with the guards, or attempt to land safely on the ground.

There were no guards to be seen on the ground so it seemed the better option. Samantha took note of a windowsill in between the distance of where she was and the ground. If she could catch onto it she would be able to safely drop the rest of the distance to the ground.

Catching onto the windowsill was lucky indeed, but jarred her right arm and nearly made her lose her grip. She was almost positive that she had heard an unpleasant pop. This aside, she hastily dropped onto the street and landed on her feet.

The guards on the roof did not wish to attempt what the woman had just done, and therefore took to shouting to attract attention from the city guards.

"Guards! That whore is a murderer!"

Sam groaned. They had caught the attention of the city guards and one simple mission had already turned into a fiasco.

Samantha looked back to see three guards in padded armor running to catch her. A few crates were stacked perfectly next to each other and she made her way up them as if they were steps. The novice then jumped a small gap between the crates and a horizontal post jutting from the side of the building and then to another one.

The guards were quick to follow but Samantha was now near the flat top of a building and she could see a roof garden in the distance in which to hide in. It was almost too perfect.

Sam nimbly jumped and caught the ledge of the roof with her left hand, to spare the further injury of her right arm, and pulled herself up with both hands. The guards were a bit slower to follow this time and Sam got a head start on the roof and took off at a sprint.

She was now running for her life, and the guards were left behind. Samantha dodged another group of crates on the roof that further masked her from the sight of the guards. She was now mere feet away from the rooftop garden. She would make it.

Sam jumped into the wooden box and pressed herself to the floor, attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She held her breath as a breeze fluttered the green material that shielded her from the sight of the guards. The woman could hear the sound of boots approaching.

"Where could she have gone?" Samantha could hear the voice of a guard ask, his silhouette and two others were outlined on the fabric. Had she not been in danger she might have chuckled about the stupidity of them.

The three men stood there for a moment more.

"Come, let's ring the guard tower's bells and be done with it. She will be caught eventually," one said and the others agreed.

The sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears and Sam relaxed her tense muscles and breathed out a deep sigh. That had been much too close.

As the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins wore off her right arm began to throb painfully and her conscience began to descend upon her. Sam rose into a sitting position and pulled out the bloodied feather. She had not noticed before that she also had blood on her hands.

Who was she to be playing God and taking the life of another human being? She was fate itself, and it scared her.

Sam didn't know how long she had been sitting in the rooftop garden thinking, but it must have been at least an hour or two. She hadn't noticed the sound of footsteps on the roof and was therefore startled when the curtain was pulled aside.

With a yelp of surprise Samantha scrambled backwards and away from her attacker. She relaxed and returned to her sitting position when she noticed it was Altaïr standing in front of her.

"Are you hurt novice?" The assassin's voice was like ice.

Sam didn't answer right away and Altaïr quickly crawled into the cramped space of the garden and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him.

"I asked if you were hurt," he growled.

Samantha pushed his hand away and turned her eyes away from his and towards the green curtain. Her body was obviously hurt and scraped up and she wasn't in the mood to be pushed around by Altaïr.

However, Altaïr did not take kindly to being ignored, especially when he was attempting to care for his student. He roughly grabbed Sam's right shoulder, but quickly released her when she cried out in pain.

"You hurt your arm."

"It's nothing." Sam didn't want to make a big deal out of it right now. Altaïr's eyes regarded her with a cold gaze that made her feel like he didn't even truly care if she was injured. She was quickly losing her patience with him and stood so that their conversation could be brought to a close and they could return to the bureau.

Altaïr's hand on her wrist stopped her as she rose. "Are you okay?"

"We've already covered this, let's go."

"Not physically, novice, I know what killing a man can do to a person. You forget that I too have gone through the trials which you are now facing." He did not move his hand from her wrist and she could have sworn that his expression grew softer.

"Yes, well that is for me to deal with " she mumbled sourly.

"Do you still believe yourself capable of taking more lives?" The question didn't seem like it was asked unkindly, but Altaïr's sudden interest in her wellbeing was off putting to say the least.

"Killing these men means benefitting the communities in these cities and stopping tyranny where otherwise it would go unchallenged," Sam recited what she had been telling herself constantly since killing her target, as if it would somehow justify her actions. So far it was working.

"Yes," the assassin agreed.

"Then, yes, I will be able to take more lives." Samantha knew that killing these men would put an end to some of the suffering of those less fortunate. She also knew that it would be thankless and grueling but she was still determined to make a difference.

Altaïr squeezed her wrist gently before releasing it. "You will do well, novice."

Samantha couldn't help but smile. "Was that encouragement?"

"Take it as you will, but just know that it only gets more difficult from here."


	12. Chapter 12

I'm actually keeping up with my schedule guys! This fanfiction keeps coming to me more easily and I pray that it continues to do so! Also, just finished AC3! The ending, no spoilers, is going to make me rethink the direction I have in mind for this fanfic. But no worries! We still have a long way to go :)

Thank you crazyuser, xVentressx, and Pharaoh' for your reviews!

You all are my motivation! So please give me more reviews in the future :)

Any fanart? Send it to me! I might just make it the image for this story!

Latin titles for the win.

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><p>~Ballistic Babydoll<p>

Chapter twelve: Experientia docet

It had been a month since the group had come back to Masyaf after killing Asham.

Every day held more training for Samantha, but she was enjoying almost every moment of it, every moment other than when some of the men would make sexist comments or attempt to degrade her.

For Altair the month had not been wholly unpleasant.

Samantha still had much to learn, but she was catching onto most of his lessons quickly. More quickly, in fact, than he had ever imagined. It was as if she was born to fight with a sword. Whenever she was placed in the ring with one of the men she usually bested them. Granted, Sam was obviously pushing herself in order to prove her worth.

If there was one thing he admired about her it was that.

He and his novice now sat in the bureau of Jerusalem, the very same that he had first taken her to when he had found her being chased by guards.

The memory brought up many different feelings that he had been previously unaware of. How quickly he had rushed to her aid even though he knew nothing about her, how much she had grown as a fighter and, more importantly, as an assassin since then.

However, she had much more to do before she could even hope to be considered a fully fledged assassin. She would need much more training, more assassinations, and more sacrifice.

This was part of the reason why they were now in Jerusalem together now. For the past two weeks his novice had been shadowing him during missions. This way she would learn new techniques from him while also learning to be unseen and unheard while she followed him.

As he sat within the bureau his mind began to wander back to when they had returned to Masyaf after Samantha's first official test of loyalty.

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><p>The assassin was grateful that the journey back to Masyaf had been uneventful. He was also glad that he no longer had to share his horse with his novice, as they had gotten a horse for both Sam and Amy in Damascus.<p>

Even so, he wished for a bit of excitement. Altair did enjoyed the thrill of hunting down his targets and taking their lives.

He glanced over at Sam from underneath the cover of his hood. It was just beginning to grow dark and they were making their way uphill towards the citadel on foot; Amy and Malik were walking some ways behind them.

He doubted she would be able to push aside many of her emotions as he had chosen to long ago. Sam's hood was down and he could see her smile as they got closer to the fortress. She was so fickle.

One moment the woman was sad, the next angry at him, and then she would tease him. It was maddening. He wondered if all women from her time were like this.

"Should I meet with Al Mualim?" he barely heard Sam ask.

"If he is awake we will know, if not, then it can wait until morning," he forced himself to look where he was walking rather than at his novice.

The two arrived in the entrance hall of the citadel. The study where Al Mualim usually stayed was empty, indicating that he had retired for the evening.

"Oh well," Sam shrugged and noticeably winced as her shoulder twinged painfully.

"Hey Sam I'm off to bed," Amy said and waved to her friend as she departed.

Altair watched as his friend turned to them.

"I shall escort Amy to her room. Goodnight Altair, Samantha." Malik nodded his head to them and followed Amy to her quarters.

"I guess we should rest too," Sam suggested, "I assume you plan on training tomorrow?"

"Not until you have someone look at your arm," he replied and headed for the infirmary gesturing for her to follow.

"If you are concerned about me I may die of shock," he heard Sam joke from behind him.

Altair rolled his eyes, "Do not mistake my concern for caring, we have much work to do in order to further hone your skills."

It was Samantha's turn to roll her eyes, although the movement went unseen by him.

They arrived in the medical wing. No one was in the immediate room so Sam hopped up on the wooden table, grinding her teeth as the movement jarred her arm.

The assassin looked everywhere but concluded that Anass must have retired early to his quarters.

"No one is here; we will have Anass check your arm in the morning."

Sam frowned, "My arm really hurts, could you just look at it?"

"I suppose so," he agreed after mulling the idea over for a moment.

Sam had already begun to unbuckle the belts around her and had her tunic over her head before he could stop her.

He quickly averted his gaze and felt heat creep up on his neck. Altair was no stranger to women, but it was Samantha, and she was his student.

"Novice, what are you-"

"Oh come on, you act like you're a hormonal teenage boy," Sam teased, "just look at my shoulder."

Altair breathed deeply and walked over to Samantha. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders and covered them. He gently brushed her hair aside from the area with the back of his knuckles and felt her heated skin against his.

He was glad for the wrappings around Sam's torso and the pants that she still wore. At least they would both retain some decency.

He sucked in a sharp intake of air as he looked upon her shoulder. The skin there was inflamed and swollen, a sharp contrast from the creamy pallor of the rest of her.

"What did you do?"

"I fell from a roof and caught myself on a windowsill, I'm pretty sure I heard a crack," she answered.

Altair gently pressed his calloused fingertips to the swollen area and Sam gritted her teeth against the pain.

"Does this hurt?" He asked and attempted to lift her arm until it was parallel to her body. Her arm stopped about halfway there.

Samantha was now whimpering at the pain that he was causing.

"I believe you have dislocated your shoulder; I should put it back," he replied simply, it had not been the first time he had seen this happen.

Sam's eyes locked onto his, darkened in the low lit room.

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes, but we cannot leave it like it is." Altair grabbed a piece of leather and handed it to her, "You can bite onto this."

"How does this work?"

"Here," he guided her onto her feet and lead her to a contraption on the other side of the room, "sit here."

The novice did as she was told and sat in the wooden seat while the assassin went to work strapping her arm onto the odd rack.

Altair waited until Sam had put the leather into her mouth and began to crank on a wheel that would set her arm back into place.

His novice's face contorted in pain as she bit down hard on the leather strip. He was remorseful that he was forced to cause her so much pain, but what had to be done would be done.

Quite suddenly there was a sickening pop and Samantha cried out against the leather and spit it out of her mouth.

Hastily Altair undid the straps once more which allowed Sam to cradle her arm against her chest.

"You sure do know how to cause me inordinate amounts of pain," she growled and wiped tears away that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Forgive me, it had to be done," he apologized as he felt the joint of Samantha's shoulder to be sure that the bone had gone correctly back into the socket, luckily it had.

Sam lifted her arm and it rose all the way up without resistance.

"Better?" Altair asked as she rose to her feet.

"Very sore, but much better."

"That's to be expected. Your shoulder should be bruised and swollen for about a week or two, but other than that you should be fine," the assassin explained as he blew out the only remaining candle in the room and exited.

Samantha pulled her tunic back over her head and gathered up her belt in the darkness. "Do I still have to train tomorrow?" She asked as she left the room and found Altair in the hallway.

"Of course, we will not do free running, but you could use some practice with your blade."

"Wonderful," she grumbled, "I can feel the humiliation already."

"I do not see why you complain about sparring," the assassin commented as the two headed towards each of their rooms, "you have been doing quite well."

"Maybe for a novice," she mumbled sourly.

Altair nearly laughed, "You _are_a novice, skills do not come within a day; they require much practice."

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

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><p>Altair was shaken from his thoughts by Samantha tapping him on his shoulder. He looked to find her sitting directly in front of him on the floor; he must have been deep in thought for the woman to have sat there without him noticing her.<p>

"What are you smiling about?" she asked with a smirk.

The assassin did not realize that his face had gone into a slight smile whilst he was recollecting that day. He shook his head indicating it was nothing.

"Oh whatever," she waved him off, "I'll never find out anything from you, will I?"

He shrugged, not bothering to voice a response. Already he was becoming more comfortable around the woman than he thought he would. So comfortable that occasionally he would lax his guard; something he was starting to deem unwise.

"So you have a mission today then?" the novice asked happily, she loved to be able to follow Altair around and watch him as he performed his unerring assassinations.

"Later this evening, yes."

"Good," Sam hopped to her feet, eager to get as much rest as she could until then, "I'll be in my room if you need me!"

"Highly unlikely," Altair grumbled as he closed his eyes and rested his head upon the hard wall behind him.

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><p>Sam sighed contentedly as she lounged back on a stack of soft pillows in her room. She was happy to get these next few hours to rest. It felt as if life just kept getting more hectic and busy, making these cherished moments of peace prominent within her mind.<p>

The woman's thoughts slowly drifted to her master. It still bothered her not knowing what was going through his mind. What was he smiling about anyways? He _never_smiled unless it was to smirk condescendingly at her.

Damn her curiosity.

She ran through scenarios in her mind of what he could be smiling about. Maybe about her face when he told her what the leap of faith was, or the fact that she would eventually have to have one of her fingers chopped off.

Maybe he wasn't thinking about her at all.

Then again, maybe he was...

But that was absurd. Altair never thought about anyone but himself! Sam had to admit, the assassin _was_handsome. But so was Malik and Kadar, what made him so special?

Was it because he was spending almost every moment of the day with her to train her? Was it because of those times where she would catch him looking at her? Those moments were brief, but did not go unnoticed.

She huffed in frustration. There was no way Altair had a single romantic bone in his body, especially not for her.

She thought about Amy and Malik for the briefest of moments and her chest felt heavy with envy, and then remorse. Sam was envious that Amy had Malik to stand by her side for anything, both as a friend and as what any normal person in her time would call a boyfriend. Then again, she was not in her time, therefore their relationship had to remain under the radar, so to speak.

She was ashamed that she was envious of her friend being happy. Samantha had to admit she often grew lonely and tired of being seen only as "Altair's novice". But she knew that it could only get better from here. Even if she was stuck in this time for the rest of her life there had to be _somebody_that she could find to love her.

Then again, she reasoned, love is for fairytales and children. Life was no fairytale.

Thinking back to Amy, she wondered what her friend was now doing. Samantha had left in a rush to leave for Jerusalem and barely got a chance to wish her friend goodbye. It seemed that both Sam and Amy's duties within the brotherhood was beginning to separate the previously inseparable friends.

With a stress-laden sigh Sam rolled onto her side and decided that she would try to get what sleep she could. She would need to be as alert and rested as possible for her shadowing of Altair.

* * *

><p>Amy was in Masyaf, slowly pacing back and forth in her room. She was constantly on edge whenever Samantha went on missions with Altair.<p>

Her pacing continued for a few minutes until Malik burst into the room, nearly giving the poor woman a heart attack.

"Malik! You scared me, what's wrong?" She questioned, noticing the sweat beaded on his forehead and the worried look in his eyes.

"You are needed in the medical wing. An accident has occurred and Anass requests your assistance."

"Right," Amy's training in medical school had given her enough experience to know that panicking would do her no good. Instead, she ran to the main treatment room with a calm countenance, Malik on her heels.

She flung open the door to reveal Anass, his tunic bloody, standing over a young man on the long wooden table. The man was nearly passed out from pain, and his face drained of most of its color due to blood loss.

Amy quickly pulled on the apron handed to her by an underling and tied it to avoid getting blood on her clothing. "What happened?"

"A training accident, we may have to amputate his leg."

Amy assessed the damage done to the man's thigh. His femoral artery had been cut by a blade and was quickly bleeding out his lifeblood. It didn't look good.

"No!" the man screamed, "I can't lose my leg! I'm an assassin! It is my life."

Amy looked at the man sympathetically; if she didn't act fast he would lose more than just his leg. She was instantly reminded of Sam.

"I will do the best I can," she assured him.

"Alright, I need boiling water, a needle, and wool thread now!" Amy immediately took on the head role.

The woman gave the man a piece of leather to bite on while Anass got to work with the underlings. Amy pressed her fingers into the man's wound and began searching for the pressure where the artery was bleeding out; after a minute her fingers were slick with blood and she had a hold on it.

"Where is that thread?" she demanded.

"Here," Anass handed her a length of the thread.

"I need you to get a tight hold on the femoral artery that I'm holding or else it will retract back into the wound," she ordered the older man.

Once she was sure his hold would not slip she quickly fashioned a knot around the artery so that it would stop bleeding.

"Alright, that should give us a bit of time. Is that water boiling?"

"Yes," one of the underlings answered.

"Good, put a good amount of thread into it to help sanitize it." Amy told the younger boy and proceeded to stick her fingers into the wound to find the other end of the artery.

"Okay," she said once she had a good grasp on it, "Anass I need you to bring the two ends of the artery together so I can try to sew it up. You two," she barked at the underlings, "get materials ready to cauterize the wound once I'm done."

Amy threaded the needle and began to work meticulously in sewing up the artery, which was quite large. By now the poor man had passed out.

"Alright," Amy said as she untied the knot and allowed blood back through the artery, "that should hold."

"Here," one of her helpers said, "the rod is hot."

Amy quickly washed the blood from her hands and put on a pair of thick leather gloves. "You two need to hold him down, there's a good chance he will wake up from the pain."

Once the two had taken their place on either side of the man Amy grasped the red-hot metal rod in her gloved hand and pressed it to the large wound.

The man struggled against the two other men holding him down and screamed in agony.

"Hold him still!" She yelled harshly as she continued the cauterization of the wound.

The putrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air in the room and Amy wrinkled her nose. Once the wound was closed completely the woman let out a deep breath and set the bloody rod into a cold water basin.

"I have never seen such methods," Anass breathed in disbelief, "we would have normally amputated the leg and then cauterized it."

"Well now he can keep his leg, and more importantly his life, granted that his leg doesn't get infected," Amy told the older man while washing her hands once more.

Before she could dry her wet hands she felt arms wrap around her waist and twirl her around, warm lips attacked hers.

After a few seconds Malik placed the woman back on her feet. The room was in disbelieving silence, but once a few minutes had passed Anass's face broke into a smile.

"Go and rest," he told Amy and patted her on the shoulder, "you have helped tremendously today."

Amy smiled up at the older man and removed her smock.

"Okay, well his wound will begin to blister so a poultice should be made for that," she told Anass as Malik began to pull her from the room by her hand, "and be sure to drain the excess puss and blood from it!" she called.

"You were remarkable in there," Malik said as he looked down at her affectionately.

Amy flushed, she had forgotten that he was there and had been completely wrapped up in her work.

The assassin led her to a secluded hallway and pressed his lips to hers again. "I never wish to be parted from you," he whispered as he traced her cheek with the back of his knuckle and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

* * *

><p>Altair stood underneath the lattice of the bureau rooftop entrance gazing up at the sky; it had passed midday, and evening was quickly approaching. It was time to depart.<p>

The assassin checked his hidden blade deftly to ensure it was in proper working condition as he made his way to Sam's room.

Upon reaching the door Altair decided it was time for another test. Soundlessly he pulled the wooden door open and a beam of light was allowed into the otherwise dark room. The light fell upon Samantha whose chest rose and fell gently as she slept.

Altair couldn't keep from hesitating a moment in the doorway.

He strode forward into the room, his footsteps muffled by the decorative rug on the floor. With a soft 'shink' of metal sliding smoothly against metal, his hidden blade protruded from his bracers.

The sound did not go unheard by his novice.

Samantha was sitting up, panting, the dagger that had been underneath her pillow in hand.

"I'm impressed," Altair said as he retracted his hidden blade and raised an eyebrow.

Samantha lowered her knife and clutched her chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she gasped.

"I was testing you, and you passed."

Sam fell back onto her pillow with an exasperated sigh.

"Do not fret novice, this shows how honed your senses have become," he told her as he offered her his hand to help her to her feet.

"Whoopdie freaking doo," she mumbled sourly, not liking being woken up in such a manner for any reason.

"Next time I might unsheathe my blade BEFORE I enter the room, perhaps you should begin listening for breathing as well," Altair mentioned as the two walked down the small corridor to the entrance.

"Don't you dare," she growled and glared sideways at him.

The assassin chuckled, "Must you be so cross as soon as you wake up?"

"Don't you even talk to me about being cross, because _you,_sir, are the king of it," Sam bit back as they scaled the wall to the rooftop.

He did not reply, only continued smirking under the shadow of his cowl.

She rolled her eyes. "Where are we going anyways?" Sam asked as they took off across the rooftops.

"To a thieves den, there I will find a Templar named Rupert Murdock and end his life," Altair replied and headed west.

"Sounds so exciting," she remarked sarcastically and giggled.

"You find something funny?"

"Rupert," she laughed, "he must be a total dweeb! His name is hilarious!"

The assassin snorted and attempted to cover it with a cough, it was indeed fairly funny, although he could not begin to guess what a dweeb was. Perhaps a sort of odd looking insect.

Overall the Assassin's mission was going off without a hitch, that is, until his novice slipped up.

He had snuck into the den easily enough, as there were many thieves entering and leaving at will. He had even gotten into the dining hall where the Templar was, but it was all for naught.

His novice had been hiding in the wooden rafters, perfectly tailing him exactly as he had taught her. Until she had sneezed. _Sneezed!_Could she not contain herself enough to prevent from spoiling his mission?

Thinking that it would go unnoticed due to the din within the hall he continued on to his target, but she had been spotted.

"Assassin!" Came the cry of a man to his left.

"Another!" Cried one to his right, finger pointed accusingly at him.

Perhaps they should cease wearing uniform clothing.

The Templar he had been agonizingly close to killing bolted from the spot.

Altair groaned. "One mission, one simple mission!" he growled as he gave chase.

He noticed Sam dashing across the rafters until they had made it out of the building where she dropped to the ground and sprinted to catch up with him.

"Altair I'm-" Sam attended to apologize as she caught up with him.

"You ruin everything!" he interrupted.

"It was dusty up there," she exclaimed defensively.

The assassin ignored her and focused on his quarry. He was headed south, beginning to climb to the rooftops and they followed in suit.

"He's making for the river," he noted to Samantha.

"We'll catch him," she tried to assure.

The Templar stopped as he reached the edge of the roof nearest to the waterway, his sword drawn.

Samantha unsheathed her short sword from her back and Altair his long sword.

"You vill not keel me!" he spat, his voice thick with a Germanic accent.

Murdock swung his sword, skillfully striking and parrying both Altair and Samantha's attacks without fault. He was much more skilled than the woman in both swordplay and stamina, and it was beginning to show.

Sam's blocks were becoming slower, and her attacks sloppy. It was not long before Altair noticed his opponent's weapon heading for her ribcage; her short sword was not coming up fast enough to parry it.

The assassin lunged, taking the brunt of the blade upon his sword and saving Sam, but also putting him off balance.

The Templar took advantage of his misfortune and pushed the assassin off the side of building, he himself trying to regain balance after doing so.

Sam was relieved once she heard the splash of water that indicated Altair had not landed on the solid ground below. She recognized the opportunity of the off balance Templar and sunk her blade hilt deep into his neck, the opposite end protruding from the other side.

Sam wiped her blade on the dying Templar's robes. "Nighty night Rupert!" she exclaimed in a sing-song voice as she sheathed her short sword on her back.

Samantha walked to the edge of the building, peering over the edge to search for her mentor.

She saw nothing.

"Altair!" she called, painfully aware that there were no telltale ripples disturbing the water had he surfaced.

The sun was beginning to fade on the horizon, leaving trails of purple and red streaking across the sky.

"You have to be kidding me," she mumbled as her heart began to race.

Sam hastily unhooked her belt with her sheathed swords still attached and took a deep breath as she dove into the river below.

The river was surprisingly cold, considering the climate. It took her a moment to get over the shock of the frigid water around her, but Sam quickly recovered and began looking around in the dark water for any sign of Altair.

The search seemed fruitless until she saw a brief flash of white to her left. There was Altair, unconscious, and sinking quickly into the murky depths of the river.

She realized that his thick robes and weapons were weighing him down and he would soon drown. Eyes narrowed with determination, Sam swam over to the assassin. Once she had reached him she gripped him around his waist and tried desperately to kick upwards. Her lungs were screaming for air and Altair's wet robes and well-toned body combined were heavy.

She kicked more violently, her left arm moving in a constant arch, trying to get them higher. After much struggling Sam's head broke the surface of the water.

Samantha gasped as warm air rushed into her lungs. Panting, she pulled Altair's body along with her to the ledge where the river ended and the street began. Gripping the side with her left arm, she braced her legs against the smooth bank and hauled Altair, with much effort, onto the street.

'Okay, mouth to mouth, I've taken a class on that right?' Sam searched through her scrambled thoughts trying to remember how to do it. She was sure if Amy was here she would know.

Samantha pushed back the hood that was clinging to Altair's head and placed her hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with her fingers under his chin.

She brought her head down near his mouth, he wasn't breathing. Sam pinched the bridge of the assassin's nose and took a deep breath, pressing her lips to his. Altair's lips were cold, and she prayed that she wasn't too late.

Samantha watched as his chest rose as she breathed into his lungs.

She jumped as Altair leaned over, coughing up water. After a moment the assassin was panting, his head leaned back and his eyes shut tight.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Altair's eyes opened, his golden brown orbs taking in her appearance. It was dark now, and her long locks clung to her face and sopping wet tunic.

"You saved me," he breathed.

She smiled slightly, "Of course, I couldn't just let you drown."

Altair pressed his hand to his chest, breathing deeply as he did so. He had never come so close to death before. He had always had the advantage.

"Thank you."

Samantha looked up at him, her eyes holding the slightest hint of surprise. "You're welcome Altair."

The two sat there for a moment, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing and the flow of the slow moving river next to them.

Altair moved to his feet first. "We should dry off," he extended his hand for her to take, "it will do us no good to catch cold."

"Just let me go get my weapons first," Sam said as he hauled her to her feet.

"Wait," he stopped her with a hand pressed on her shoulder, "the target, what happened?"

Sam shrugged, "I killed him."

"Did you?" he asked, surprised, as his hand lingered on her shoulder. "Good."

Samantha nodded as he released her, noticing the way his eyes lingered on her face. She herself was unable to stop from also studying his face, one she rarely ever got to see.

As the two walked to the bureau, both cold and dripping wet, a sort of understanding and mutual respect seemed to grow between them.

Altair had a sensation of lingering warmth on his lips.

Samantha felt her heart flutter with pride, contentment, and something more.

* * *

><p>Woo! Got some Amy being awesome in there and some romance for Malik. They aren't the main pair for this story so I'm going to have their relationship just be there (rather than the SamAltair buildup)

What's an Altair fanfiction without him almost drowning? It may be super overused, but I love it.

By the way, little author's life tidbit. I had a waiter at my neighborhood Chilie's that looked EXACTLY like Altair. My poor fangirl heart almost died of happiness! Needless to say, I will be eating there much more often.

I might be trying to get another chapter out before next month, but it's a huge MIGHT. If not, then I look forward to giving you the next chapter in the New Year :) I wish you all a happy holidays!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone! My present to you is this little chapter I whipped up in a day. I hope you all enjoy it, and within the next few chapters we will most likely reach the beginning of the videogame arc!

Thank you MoonlitMeeting and Ventress for the reviews/well wishes!

I'd also like to thank all of you who have recently favorited or followed this story, I truly appreciate it!

I wish all of you assassin's the best!

~Ballistic Babydoll

* * *

><p>"A man's maturity: that is to have rediscovered the seriousness he possessed as a child at play."<p>

-Nietzsche

* * *

><p>Chapter thirteen: One step forward, two steps back<p>

Nearly a month later, spring had come to Masyaf.

Samantha woke up to the sound of rain upon her window. She lay in bed for many minutes, listening to the downpour with relish. She missed the rain, especially in this arid region.

Gently, she removed the sheets from her body and stretched her arms high above her head. The sound of rain was soothing, and she felt peace wash over her.

Samantha dressed quickly in her uniform, but left her weapons off of her belt. Today she was determined to have a bit of fun. The woman pulled on her boots and was out of her room in a flash of white robes.

She passed many of the men as she dashed down the hall, each sending her confused looks. In a moment she arrived at Amy's door. Sam knocked twice.

A few seconds passed and the woman could hear her friend getting out of bed and walking to open the door.

"Amy!" Sam smothered her friend in a hug once the door had opened. She had arrived from a mission late last night and it had been over a week since she had seen her friend.

"Sam!" Amy cried happily and returned the warm embrace.

"Amy it's raining!" A joyous smile found its way onto the blonde's face.

"I know! Do you have to train today?" Amy asked apprehensively.

"I don't care, if Altair wants to train more it can wait. I'll be damned if I let a perfect day like this go by without enjoying it!"

Amy smiled, "Playing in the rain?"

"Of course!" Sam exclaimed, "It's been months since I've seen rain!"

Both of them quieted for a moment, smiles faltering as they realized that they hadn't seen rain since they had arrived in this time.

"Just give me a minute to get changed," Amy broke the silence, "I'll be right out!"

Samantha stood alone in the hallway, leaning against the cool stone wall.

Had it really been nearly half a year since their arrival here? Weeks passed and seemed only to be days. Life was so evanescent when one was constantly on the move.

She had changed.

No longer was she concerned about what clothes were in style or when her favorite T.V. shows would come on. Her thoughts were focused on Altair's next kill, or how to throw knives. Such things had never seemed important until now.

Amy was her only link to the future. She still tried to talk about what the celebrities had been doing before they had gone back in time, or what books and movies were about to come out.

The more Sam thought about it the more sick she felt. They had both disappeared out of the blue. Their families and friends would think they were dead.

They would most likely never return.

Samantha wasn't even sure that she wanted to go back. Life was much simpler now. She didn't have to worry about college, or where she would get her next paycheck from. It was just her, and her training.

Then there was Altair. Slowly, she noticed he was being less of an ass to her. Berating her less, and encouraging her more. Perhaps he was even growing fond of her.

The door next to her opened.

"Alright, I'm ready!" Amy said cheerfully, coming out of her room with a dark blue dress on. It was floor length with long draping sleeves.

"When did you get a dress?" Samantha asked as she nudged her friend with her elbow.

The other woman flushed, "I just thought that having a few dresses might be nice."

"For Malik, I'm sure," her friend teased.

"What about you?" Amy asked as they began walking down the hall, "Have you found anyone you might be interested in?"

"I'm too busy for that," Samantha waved her off.

"Oh, come on! There has to be _someone_," Amy urged.

"I don't know Amy, I really haven't thought about it. The only man I ever see enough to get to know is Altair." Sam sighed.

"Well what about him?"

Sam snorted in laughter, "Him? That would require that he actually have feelings, and I'm under the impression that he doesn't."

The two were now past the entrance hall and were exiting the cover of the building; Sam put up her hood to spare herself momentarily from the rain.

"I don't think you give him enough credit," Amy told her seriously.

Sam cast her friend a confused look, "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_, assassin's are probably taught to suppress their feelings."

"And how would you know that?"

"Well, Malik...I mean, he-"

"He told Malik something?" Sam asked incredulously, "About me?"

"I'm not supposed to say," Amy cast her a sideways glance.

They were now beyond the gates of the fortress, on the top of the hill overlooking the small town below.

"Some friend you are," Samantha teased and kicked a puddle in the grass, successfully covering the bottom of her friends dress with water.

"Are you kidding me?" Amy cried and kicked water back at Sam.

The two friends chased each other and stomped in puddles for some time. Enjoying the freedom felt by romping around in the rain.

* * *

><p>Altair woke up later that morning, still exhausted by his late arrival the night before. His thoughts immediately went to the training he would have to do with Samantha that day. He groaned; the assassin wanted nothing more than to stay within the confines of his sheets.<p>

His mind was quickly pulled away by the sound of rain. In his opinion the storm was unseasonably early, it was not even time for the farmers to begin planting their meager crops.

He rose from his pallet, moving slowly over to his window. Rain splashed against the pane and he could just make out the grey line of dark mountains in the distance. It was as if the back of a large beast rose from the very earth itself to blot out part of the dreary skyline.

It had been awhile since it had rained there, and in all honesty he missed when the heavens would weep and allow the dry land to flourish. With rain always brought renewal.

With one last look out of the window he turned to dress.

Once he had finished the assassin made his way out of his room. The hall was not crowded by any means and he passed only a few men, each nodding respectfully to him. He reached Samantha's room in no time at all and rapped sharply against the wooden door; no answer. He knocked again yielding the same result.

The assassin turned the brass doorknob and opened the door himself. The sheets on the pallet had been neatly folded and the clothing stand was empty. Weapons remained on their rack on the far side of the small room and the woman's bracers were set upon the only table present.

He couldn't imagine what would have gotten her out of bed before he himself rose, or why she would leave all of her weapons in her room.

Altair shut the door with a bit more force than was necessary. He headed to the training ground, pulling his hood up as he did. Upon arriving he saw the younger boys training with swords, instructed by Rauf.

The other assassin noticed his presence before Altair had reached him and automatically pointed in the direction of the gates, already knowing who he was looking for.

Altair changed his direction with a grateful nod towards Rauf; he wondered what business Samantha would have outside of the fortress.

His question was quickly answered.

He noticed the two assassins standing watch were next to each other and whispering. Altair approached them and followed their line of sight until his eyes fell upon his novice.

Samantha's hood was down; her blonde hair was braided and trailed across her right shoulder. She was spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, with a look of utter joy on her upturned face. He had never seen her so happy.

Altair noticed she was completely soaked from head to toe, her robes clinging tightly to her body. The other assassins continued to whisper to each other, and he now knew what they were speaking about.

He pushed past the other men roughly, an angry heat rising on the back of his neck and reaching his ears. The assassin stomped across the soaked ground to his novice.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding furious.

Sam stopped spinning, her smile reaching her eyes. "Altair! It's _raining_!"

"So I have noticed," he growled. "Why are you not ready for training?"

"Come _on_, Altair! Would it kill you to not train for a day?" She smiled and grabbed his hands in hers, "Enjoy today, will you?"

The assassin was caught off guard as she spun them both around, her small hands tightly clutching his rough ones.

He wasn't sure what to do, so his reaction was to abruptly let go, the continued momentum causing Samantha to lose her balance and fall onto the ground.

Altair was going to apologize, but before he had the chance his legs were taken out from under him with a quick swipe of Sam's foot. He fell into a puddle in a disheveled heap.

Samantha laughed as she stood, "Careful Altair, it's pretty slippery out here."

He did not share in her mirth. He was soaked, cold, and embarrassed at being taken so easily off of his feet. Anger boiled up in him once more.

Before he could think rationally the assassin had tackled his novice to the ground, his hidden blade touching the skin on her neck.

All joy had left her eyes to be replaced by fear. His eyes were narrowed fiercely. "Can you refrain from acting like a child for once in your life?" he growled.

"I was just..." she choked out, unable to complete her sentence. She was only trying to get him to have some fun, to enjoy the moment with her.

"Altair!" Malik called angrily as he approached his friend.

He had been sitting nearby under a tree with Amy the entire time, unnoticed by Altair. Malik roughly grabbed the other assassin by the back of his tunic, pulling him away and allowing Sam to sit up.

Amy rushed over and helped her friend to her feet. "Are you alright?" she whispered as she led Sam away.

Altair noticed the sad and hurt look in his novice's eyes as she looked back at him before departing.

"What are you doing Altair?" Malik asked as he grasped the front of his tunic in his fist.

He had no answer for his friend.

"Samantha was only enjoying herself! She was trying to include you too! Did you even notice how she smiled at you? But you can't have that can you?" Malik spat, "No wonder she believes you to be heartless!"

"Who are you to be lecturing me?" Altair growled as he pushed Malik away from him.

"Your friend Altair! Or do you not wish to have any? If you continue down this path you will lose my friendship, and Samantha's," Malik paused," if you have not already."

"Why should I care if I am in her favor?" Altair asked vehemently.

Malik sighed, "When will you cease lying to yourself?"

The man forcefully pushed past Altair, leaving him to his thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Samantha, please stop walking!" Amy cried exasperatedly to her friend.<p>

Sam had rushed through the courtyard and through the halls until she neared her room. Upon hearing her friend's plea she slowed to a halt outside of her door.

"Sam you know it wasn't your fault right? Altair he, well I don't know what he was thinking..." Amy attempted to console her friend.

The woman watched as she turned to face her, eyes welling up with tears. Amy pulled her into a hug. "Oh Sammy," she breathed, "I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how stressful everything must be for you."

Sam didn't answer, but continued to tremble as she fought back tears. She wouldn't let them fall though, she wouldn't let Altair win. He was an idiot and she didn't need him.

Samantha let go of her friend. "I'm fine," she took a steadying breath, "really I am."

Amy frowned and folded her arms over her chest.

"I'm going to dry off, but really, don't worry about me." Samantha assured and went into her room, closing the door firmly.

The woman walked over to her desk while unbraiding her wet hair and ran what passed as a brush in that century through the tangles. She silently wished that the day had gone differently, but it was still early. Noon had yet to come, so perhaps some good could still come to her.

Samantha stripped and re-dressed in a dry tunic and pants. She would have to dry her wet clothes tomorrow if it wasn't raining.

The rain that she had been so excited for had nearly stopped, but the sky was still dark and threatened that more was to come.

* * *

><p>By the time Samantha headed to eat lunch around noon a heavy mist had set in around the fortress. The women had cooked chicken and baked fresh bread, all of which she washed down with a cup of wine. It was a delicious meal for the starving woman.<p>

She still did not feel herself yet, and decided to visit her favorite spot, the terrace below the gardens. Samantha had not visited it for quite some time due to the fact that she was nearly always away from Masyaf lately.

The gardens were especially busy today. Women bustled around performing daily chores and gossiping wildly over trivial things. A few eyes darted towards Sam as she passed and conversations continued at hurried paces.

She ignored the women, and made her way down the small flight of steps. Samantha plopped herself on the ground once she had reached the railing, crossing her legs in front of her. With a soft sigh she ran a hand through her hair, she had deeply missed the view of the surrounding mountains. Their peaks were now obstructed by mist, but their towering figures loomed above the surrounding land.

Sitting there had a calming effect on the woman. She wished she could sit there for eternity. Without anyone else, without worries.

Samantha had not noticed the hooded figures that had followed her since she had left the dining hall.

A hot, searing pain suddenly travelled through her, and she cried out. Looking down, she noticed a slash in her tunic and blood leaking down from a deep cut near her collarbone. She gingerly touched the cut, numb at the sight of her own blood. Her head turned to see three dark figures standing over her, their faces shrouded in shadow.

Suddenly, one of their hands shot forward and grasped a fistful of her hair. Sam cried out once more as the figure pulled her to her feet, half dragging her behind him into the courtyard of women. With one hand she grasped her hair, trying to ease the pressure pulling on her scalp. Her other hand was desperately searching for any weapon she could reach, but she had left all of hers in her room.

The man had dragged her to the fountain in the center of the courtyard. She could see the women looking on in a mixture of shock and horror, but no one moved to oppose the men.

Two pairs of hands grasped her arms and forced her to kneel in front of the fountain. Samantha was beyond confused; Masyaf was supposed to be safe, and she could not shake free of the strong hands gripping onto her.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you!" Shouted the voice of the third male standing above her to the crowd, "That the place of a woman is to be in the kitchens or in a man's bed."

The voice continued as a hand was removed from her arm only to be replaced on the back of her head, roughly shoving it into the water of the fountain. The water level was now higher due to the earlier downpour and she was easily up to the base of her neck in the fountain. The intent of the three men was now clear.

Samantha thrashed violently, trying to free herself of the hands that were holding her in place. The grips of the men tightened and her head was violently shoved further into the water. She could hear the muffled voice of the man as he continued to make his speech.

By now her lungs were screaming for air that she could not give them. She could do nothing. Sam's mouth opened involuntarily and water flooded into it. Her thrashes slowly became less violent as she neared the brink of unconsciousness.

Suddenly, she felt the pressure on her head removed and she was pulled out of the water. Samantha fell onto the stone of the courtyard, violently coughing water out of her lungs and gulping air as if she were a fish out of water. She lay on her side, listening to the sound of fighting that seemed to surround her. Darkness still threatened her vision, and she could barely make out the flash of a white tunic before her.

The courtyard had quieted now, and all sounds of battle ceased. She felt her limp body being lifted by strong arms, but she had not the strength to look up and see who had saved her. Sam's head lolled as she was carried, and she could not prevent herself from blacking out.

* * *

><p>Samantha awoke slowly, feeling warm sheets surrounding her body. She could hear voices in the room with her. One she identified as Altair, the other she hardly recognized as Arianna's.<p>

"Who did you say did this?"

"Abbas and two other men."

"She did not deserve this," came the woman's voice, farther away now.

"I could not agree more."

"I will leave you then, I do not know how much longer she will remain unconscious."

She heard the door close and then footsteps approach the bed that she laid on. Once again she was on her side, her eyes shut and her ears listening.

The footsteps stopped next to the bed and she could hear the scrape of a wooden chair against the floor being pulled closer.

She felt a warm hand on the side of her face, and a calloused thumb ran across her cheek.

What had come over the assassin who was caressing her so gently? Hours ago he had held his blade to her throat.

Her eyes opened slowly, she blinked until her vision was no longer clouded. The warm hand remained where it was. Samantha took in the assassin before her. His hood had been pushed back and his face was revealed, she traced the scar that ran through the corner of his lips with her eyes. His dark brown hair looked as if he had continued to run his hand through it nervously until it was an untidy mess and stuck up in many odd angles. His golden brown eyes were trained upon her.

She didn't know what to say. 'Thank you for saving me from those lunatic men'? That didn't seem quite right, nor did it do the deed justice. Words were not enough and nor could she could form any with her chapped lips.

His eyes seemed to bore holes into her, as if he knew all she was thinking. Altair leaned closer until his lips were pressed momentarily to her forehead. Samantha felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

"I am glad that you are all right, please forgive me for not coming to your aid sooner," were the soft words he spoke before rising and leaving the room.

His warm hand was gone, his lips that had so briefly graced her forehead were gone, his face was gone.

Yet a smile found its way onto Samantha's lips. Altair had revealed a chink in his armor.

* * *

><p>Nearly drowning seems to be a shared experience between Sam and Altair. Dumb assassin, can't sort out his own feelings!<p>

Hope you all enjoyed, and don't be shy! Just click that little link down there and review!

The next chapter will be in the new year, thank you all for being so supportive and staying with this story!


	14. Chapter 14

I've had a lot more free time over winter break than I had anticipated. Therefore, chapters will hopefully begin to arrive faster until school starts again.

Thank you for your reviews!

crazyuser: Altair is super kawaii! A bit more fluff for him in this chapter too :)

HoratiosGirl101: I can't save you from him! *Whispers* He's _everywhere!_

xVentressx: Just like kittens . Altair in cat ears, YUM!

Pharaoh' : Thank you! I shall try! *salutes*

MoonlitMeeting: My sincere thanks! I hadn't planned on including what Abbas's punishment would be, I hope you like :)

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, it will be broken into three parts within it.

Safety and Peace,

~Ballistic Babydoll

* * *

><p>Chapter fourteen<p>

Part one: New Prospects

It was found out the next morning that Abbas had ordered his inferiors to aid him in attempting to kill Sam. They spent three days in the fortress dungeons.

The students had learned their lessons, but it was deemed by Al Mualim that Abba's punishment was not yet over. For three weeks the high ranked assassin was forced to work in the kitchens to bake with the women, and for two of those weeks he also was made to wash clothes with them.

Abbas did not take the blow to his pride lightly, and rather than being humbled by the experience he became only surlier. His contempt for Samantha grew exponentially.

After the wound Sam had received had healed substantially she and Altair continued with assassinations as they normally would have. Neither of them mentioned anything to the other about what had happened in the recovery room, but it stayed in the back of their minds.

This would not hinder Altair, though, and his training was just as vigorous as it had been before. Samantha was no mere novice anymore, but had begun to best even Kadar and many of the other assassins of his rank.

Al Mualim was impressed, and made note to Altair that she may soon rise from the rank of novice.

* * *

><p>Altair and Samantha had been in Masyaf three days since their last mission, much longer than they usually stayed in between leaving once more.<p>

"I dunno," Sam spoke after taking a sip of her wine, "Altair hasn't said anything about a new mission at all."

"That's weird," Amy commented as she tapped her finger lightly against her chin.

The two women were seated at a long wooden table in the dining hall, eating their lunch languidly and chatting.

"Not very."

Sam noticed as her friend's face lit up with joy as Malik took a seat across from them. "How so?" she asked and rested her chin in her palm.

"The trade caravans will be passing through Masyaf within a fortnight or less, most likely. I'm sure Altair would not wish to miss the festivities that will follow."

"_Really_? Altair, _festive_?" Sam asked, her eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"You would be surprised. When there is enough ale and wine going around many of the most hardened assassins will drop their blades to dance with the village maidens." Malik sent Samantha a sly wink and a grin in Amy's direction.

"That would imply that they _are _maidens," Amy nudged Sam, "not dirt encrusted fighters!"

The blonde pouted and ran her hand through her long dirty locks, still damp with the sweat she had worked up with training not even an hour ago. "It's not _my_fault I have to train every waking hour of the day!"

"Perhaps a bath and a dress would suit you better during the festivities," Malik offered.

"I could always ask Arianna," Samantha contemplated as she pushed around the sliced potatoes on her plate with a spoon.

"I am sure she would appreciate you visiting," Malik agreed, "and to see you in a dress! She may faint in shock!"

"Haha," Sam said mockingly, "we're all laughing Malik."

"Laughing about what?"

Sam nearly choked on the potato slice she had just popped into her mouth at the sudden voice so close to her.

"Kadar!" Malik greeted his brother with open arms as he took a seat next to him.

"Brother, it is good to see you!" A grin stretched across the younger boy's face.

"Good to see you too!" Amy teased. Kadar had long known about his brother and the woman, so he had become almost like a little brother to her as well.

"It has been awhile Amy, has this oaf been treating you well?" He asked and playfully punched his elder brother's arm.

"Well enough," the copper haired woman giggled in response.

"Quite a fight you gave me today Samantha." Kadar had turned his attention to the blonde.

"Thanks," she smiled, "You nearly had me when I was backed against the fence."

"Yet you always manage to slip away perfectly! No doubt due to Altair's training."

"I guess so," Sam rubbed the back of her head sheepishly; she had to admit he had taught her everything she knew.

"Anyways," Malik interjected, "we were just speaking about the trade caravans arriving and suggested Samantha make use of a dress for the occasion."

"That would indeed be a sight for sore eyes," said the younger brother sincerely.

Sam could feel heat creep up on her neck and she decided that it was time to leave. "Well I won't get a dress if I don't visit Arianna," she stood abruptly, "Come on Amy."

Amy rolled her eyes and walked over to Malik placing a kiss on his forehead. "I'll see you soon, be sure to keep this one out of trouble," she said lightly as she ruffled Kadar's dark locks.

"What's up with you?" The auburn haired woman asked as she caught up with her friend.

"Nothing," Sam answered distractedly.

"Don't lie to me," Amy teased, "you like Kadar don't you?"

Samantha flushed. "I mean, he's handsome," she mumbled

* * *

><p>Sam could recall the first time she had seen the younger assassin in a romantic way.<p>

She had been sitting in the entranceway of the Damascus bureau and Altair had already retired to his quarters.

The woman had been startled when a dark shadow had dropped down in front of her unexpectedly from the open hole in the lattice roof.

"Kadar!" She greeted once she had recognized the man's face.

It took him a moment longer to realize who had spoken to him, "Sam?"

"Yes," she smiled, "or Samantha if you'd like. I don't think we've spoken since I was first introduced to you."

Kadar laughed lightly and joined her on the floor. "To think I thought you were a man!" he exclaimed, "How wrong I was! You surprised everyone when it was revealed that you were a woman."

Sam scratched the back of her head nervously, "Some people weren't too happy about it either."

"I admire your courage," he told her sincerely, "very few women would even consider becoming an assassin."

"Courageous or foolish, call it what you want," she joked and began feeling more relaxed around the man.

"Foolish or no, you are being trained by one of the very best assassins. You must feel honored."

Samantha rolled her eyes, Kadar was such a fanboy. "Honored that the troll sleeping next door hasn't woken and tried to eat me yet is more like it."

Kadar laughed, and she found that she liked the way his nose cutely scrunched up when he did.

"Your jesting will only give him more cause to!" He jokingly berated her.

"What can he do to me? I'm a hardcore assassin now remember?" She teased and threw one of the pillows at the assassin across from her.

The pillow hit Kadar square on the nose and he blinked confusedly as it fell in his lap. The man the grabbed the pillow and looked up at her with impish delight written across his face.

"Oh no," she warned him and shook her finger back and forth, "you are not going to start a pillow fight with me."

Before Samantha could ready her defense the pillow sailed in the air towards her, she flinched away as it hit the side of her head. Moments later an all out fight had begun with the two assassins dodging and throwing pillows at each other.

Eventually Sam felt a hand wrap around her wrist just as she was about to throw another pillow, but she found that the assassin who had just been on the other side of the small entrance was now in front of her. The blonde looked up and her eyes met bright blue orbs staring back at her.

They stood there for a moment, both slightly out of breath, and continued to study each other from their close proximity. The two seemed to realize at the same time what they had been doing.

"You know, I think I hear Altair calling me," Samantha turned her head away as a blush reached her cheeks.

"Yes, and, um. I should check in with the Dai." Kadar released her wrist, also turning a shade of red.

Both assassins turned to walk out of the room simultaneously and ended up getting stuck in the doorway with their combined width.

"After you," Kadar stepped back.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, embarrassment lacing her voice as she walked through the doorway and down the hallway to her room.

* * *

><p>"What about Altair?" Amy's question pulled Samantha from her thoughts.<p>

"How is it you manage to always bring him up?" Sam frowned. "Look, nothing has happened since that day in the infirmary. He's obviously not interested."

"Not until he see's you in a dress." Amy said slyly.

"It's been forever since I've been out of these robes," the blonde groaned trying to take the conversation away from Altair, "it's going to be a pain getting into a dress."

"Arianna will do a great job, she always does," her friend told her, "but what about that bet you had with Altair?"

Sam rolled her eyes, "Everyone knows I'm a woman, and I doubt he remembers anyways."

The two approached the matron's door and Rana answered after they had knocked. "Can I help you?"

"We were just wondering if we could get a dress made for Samantha." Amy said politely.

"No," the younger girl deadpanned, "my mother is ill and is indisposed at the moment."

"Nonsense!" Arianna appeared behind Rana. Her appearance was haggard and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. "I've waited a long time for you to need a dress; thank goodness I had made one many months ago!"

Sam and Amy were welcomed into the home and sat on the provided cushions within the sewing room. They watched as Arianna searched through a chest, her hands visibly shaking as she did so.

"Ah! Here it is, I absolutely _love _this dress! You know, I would have never thought of these kind of designs had it not been for Amy, and they are lovely."

"Renaissance fair," Amy whispered under her breath.

Samantha sent her friend a small smile.

"Well, come here dear!" the older woman beckoned her over, "Change behind this curtain so we may see how it looks on you."

The dress was pressed into the blonde's hands and she headed to change. She found that also within the pile of clothes was a cream colored corset, luckily it was not bone-crushing and uncomfortable. Rather, it only hugged her closely and supported her breasts in such a way that put her meager chest bindings to shame.

Sam was at a loss for words that could possibly describe such beautiful needlework and craftsmanship.

Samantha's dress was a deep maroon color, hardly proper for springtime, but was richly embroidered around the draping sleeves and dipping neckline with gold thread. She could scarcely imagine how many hours Arianna and her daughters must have slaved over such a fine dress.

As Samantha gazed into the polished metal 'mirror' her eyes welled up in tears. She had not felt this attractive since she had arrived in this time. Even with her mussed up hair and dirt smeared face, Sam felt like a proper woman again. The feeling was akin to what she had felt standing in front of her mirror back home in her prom dress during her senior year of high school.

The woman swallowed thickly and forced herself to stop thinking about such things.

"Samantha are you dressed yet?" Amy called.

With a small sigh Sam pushed aside the curtains and strode forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

"I would ask one small favor of you before you depart," Arianna spoke softly to the two women as they stood on the doorstep.

"Anything," Sam readily agreed.

"My husband worries for my health, Amy, if you could maybe find out why I am so sick I would truly appreciate it."

Samantha briefly wondered who Arianna's husband was; she couldn't recall ever meeting him.

"Of course," Amy put her hand lightly on the older woman's shoulder, "Sam and I owe you so much for the kindness you have shown us."

"I love my daughters dearly, and you two as if you were my own."

The younger women warmly embraced the elder, each mumbling 'thank you's' and appreciative words.

"I will meet with you tomorrow morning and see if I am able to help you at all." Amy told Arianna as they departed.

* * *

><p>Part two: A simple dance<p>"Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free." ."

-Rumi

* * *

><p>Nearly a week passed and news of the caravan's early arrival was spreading like wildfire through the town of Masyaf. Preparations began in a frenzy of bright ribbon, party tents, and last minute touches to anything shopkeepers in the small town wanted to sell to the traders.<p>

Though the bustle of everyone was exciting, Altair warned Sam not to stray from her training. She obliged, not wanting to argue with the assassin and risk spoiling the light mood that had settled even within the fortress of assassins.

Quite suddenly, in the middle of the second week, the trading caravan arrived and the merry-making began promptly.

"Aren't you excited?" Amy asked, a huge grin plastered from ear to ear on her face.

Samantha and Amy were in Sam's room getting ready for the festivities of the night. Each of them dressed in beautiful dresses and with soft slippers on their feet.

Amy wore a deep green dress, embroidered similarly to that of Samantha's. Her auburn hair had been pulled back into a neat bun by Sam and had a few flowers pinned into it.

Samantha wore Arianna's red dress with pride, her blonde hair fell straight down her back and a few locks were tastefully braided.

She looked over to her friend and smiled warmly. "Of course I'm excited!"

The two women shared a grin before making sure their gowns were smoothed and exited Sam's cramped room.

As they passed the main gates and began their descent from the fortress music could be heard floating up from the city below. The town was lit brightly with torches and candles, people were talking and laughing boisterously and sharing drinks over trade and tales of travels.

Sam felt as if she couldn't get to the party fast enough. She wished to run down the hill and join everyone in their fun, but she forced herself to walk calmly down the winding path next to Amy, lest she ruin the dress Arianna had worked so hard to make for her.

It was not very long before the two arrived at the base of the hill where an assassin still stood guard. Sam sent her friend a sly grin before lifting up her skirts slightly higher and darting towards one of the tents that had been set up.

"Wait up, Sam!" Amy called over the music that had just picked up pace once more.

Samantha rushed through throngs of people, dragging Amy with one hand and holding her skirts with the other to prevent herself from tripping.

Vendors were shouting and people were laughing merrily in the tents. The biggest crowd, however, was towards the back of the tent that opened up to a compacted dirt dance floor. Right next to it drinks were being served.

Being the first night of the revelry, drinks were being passed around to everyone without charge and were eagerly accepted.

Sam and Amy were handed flagons of wine before they headed to find a spot at one of the many wooden tables.

They spotted one on the far side of the tent that was empty and hurriedly claimed it as their own.

* * *

><p>Altair had not removed his Assassin's tunic, pants, or belts for the festivities. However, he did leave behind many of his weapons other than a knife he had hidden. Never before had any major fights erupted during a trading caravan's arrival, and he had enough faith in his own skills and that of the assassins standing guard to sit comfortably with only a mere dagger.<p>

The assassin sat at a long table next to Malik and Kadar, nursing his own pint of ale. He was not one for the loud conversations or courting that many of his fellows enjoyed during such events, and he liked it that way. Yes, he would sit here comfortably, enjoying the company of his friend next to him.

"Have you seen Amy?" Malik was asking his younger brother.

"Over there, and Samantha is with her!" The younger boy pointed out the two women who were laughing together in the corner.

Altair and Malik watched as Kadar hurriedly downed the rest of his ale and slammed his mug on the table. "I am going to ask Samantha to dance." Without looking back the cocky young boy strode forward towards the women's table.

Malik rose an eyebrow at his friend, "Kadar makes the first move."

Altair glared down into the watery depths of his ale and downed a large gulp.

Samantha and Amy laughed and joked together, drinking every once in a while and feeling utterly carefree.

"Hello Amy, Samantha." The young assassin looked pointedly at the blonde.

"Hello Kadar!" they chimed happily.

"If I may steal Samantha away from you for a while I would be most grateful, my brother is over there." Kadar added with a slight bow.

"She's all yours!" Amy giggled and made her way through the crowd to Malik's table.

"You look stunning," Kadar complimented as he offered her his hand.

"Thank you," Sam flushed, "So where are you stealing me away to?"

"To dance, if you'd like."

"I don't know any of the dances," she pointed out.

"I have faith in your ability to catch on quickly," Kadar joked as he grasped her hand and led her to the other couples dancing jovially just outside of the tent.

Altair had a clear view of Samantha dancing with Kadar from where he was sitting. A grimace found its way onto his face each time their hands touched during their dance, and his grip on his poor empty tankard tightened each time he saw the young man steady her when she accidentally stepped on his foot.

His stomach coiled tightly in jealousy. It should be him who was dancing with Samantha, but he had probably ruined any chance with the woman. Al Mualim had ingrained him with the idea that a woman was only a distraction for assassins, that is, until he himself had gotten married. Then the older assassin had allowed the men to marry and keep wives within the fortress.

Women _were _a distraction, and this one was clouding his thoughts with everything she did.

Altair stood up decidedly, his eyes sweeping the tables around him. At once he found his target.

"Would you like to dance?"

* * *

><p>"You know, I've never noticed, but you have beautiful eyes." Sam said breathlessly as she twirled in step with Kadar. His bright blue eyes following her every move.<p>

The music was fast paced, consisting of a mix of fiddle and flute playing that had the dancers stomping their feet and dancing merrily.

"And you've the most beautiful smile from here to Acre."

The compliment made Samantha smile even wider. Her expression quickly fell when she saw who had exited the cover of the tent to join them on the dance floor.

Her chest clenched tightly as Altair led a young woman by the hand to dance. She wasn't beautiful, but was pretty in her own respect. The girl wore a simple blue dress and a head covering that barely contained her dark locks.

Samantha forced herself to look elsewhere and found that she was no longer enjoying herself. Her eyes continued wonder back to the hooded assassin.

She would not be beaten. She had spent nearly six months training under Altair, and she would make him notice her.

"Excuse me Kadar, there is something I must attend to," Sam told the younger assassin as the song faded to an end, "thank you very much for the dance."

Samantha spotted Altair and walked determinedly towards him.

"Excuse me," Sam said loudly, very nearly pushing the other woman aside, "but I'm going to have to steal this man away from you for the night."

Without waiting for a response she took Altair by the hand and pulled him away from the dark haired woman.

The assassin's hood was pushed back by the blonde before he could hide the smirk that had made its way onto his face.

"What are _you _smiling about?" Samantha snapped as a slower tune began.

"She was dull company anyways."

"I only hope I am not so dull," Sam teased, her jealousy simmering down now that she and Altair were dancing.

The song was much slower than the first and the only instrument playing was the fiddle.

"You always seem to keep me on my toes, so no, you are not." A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't lie, you like that I drive you crazy."

Altair could not find an answer for her, and she didn't seem to care if he gave one. The light from a nearby torch played across her face and hair, the gold thread on her dress shimmering with every movement of her body. The assassin had to look away in attempt to keep the heat finding its way onto his face at bay.

He loved the way her hand felt within his, and how she would look up at him and smile when she thought he wasn't looking.

The song ended sooner than either of them would have liked.

* * *

><p>Part three: The castle of glass<p>

The rest of the night the two spent sitting at the same table with their friends, but neither of them conversing with the other.

Sam guessed it was early morning when she and Amy finally began the long ascent back up the slope to the fortress. Nearly halfway up she deviated from the main path to a separate slope. Without hesitation she plopped on the ground and stretched out on a patch of grass.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, exhausted.

"I just thought I'd look at the stars for a bit, will you stay?"

"Sure," Amy conceded.

Not even a minute later the auburn haired woman noticed Altair making his way up the main path and gestured him over before leaving.

"You know Amy," Samantha started, not knowing the assassin had taken her friends place, "I remember a lot from astronomy in high school. You see those three stars right there?" She pointed upwards.

Altair did not reply, but looked quietly from where he stood at the area she had pointed to. After he had gotten a good look his eyes trailed down to where Samantha was laying on the grass, her blonde hair illuminated by moonlight and splayed around her.

"That's the Summer Triangle," she continued, not waiting for any response. "Funny that they show up here during spring. Anyways, those three stars are Deneb, Vega, and Altair."

His name piqued the assassin's interest further.

"You know, he's not the best dancer, but I really enjoyed tonight with Altair."

"So I am a bad dancer then?" he asked as he sat down next to Samantha.

"Altair!" She cried out in surprise and sat up quickly.

"Peace," he chuckled, "I did not mean to startle you."

Altair joined her on the ground and Sam laid back down, her heart racing a mile per minute. She forced herself to look back up at the sky.

Silence overtook the two for many moments before Sam had the courage to look over at the assassin lying next to her.

Her eyes were met with golden brown ones. "You know the stars are much nicer to look at."

Altair snorted and looked away for a moment, "Hardly."

She held his gaze once more. "If there is one thing I don't understand about you Altair it is why you seem like you actually enjoy my company every once in a while, and then end up pushing me further away."

Altair turned his gaze back up to the sky, as if searching the heavens for an answer.

"I do not know," he breathed, "perhaps it is because I am wary of deviating from my chosen path."

"I won't change that path at all. All I ask for is the truth. Do you have any feelings for me? Any at all?" Sam continued to stare at the assassin, hoping he would look over at her.

It was several long minutes before she received an answer.

"Yes," the Altair mumbled, nearly inaudibly.

His eyes were still trained on the pinhole stars that poked through the heavens, wondering what he was thinking by telling her of his feelings. The stars were replaced with a face, pale and cold-looking against the black backdrop of the sky.

His eyes closed slowly as small, soft lips converged on his. For a moment the assassin enjoyed the tender kiss.

However, his thoughts suddenly took a dark turn. In a few seconds all was finally sorted out in his mind. His desire had grown too great; jealousy had even worked its way into his heart earlier that evening.

A sudden realization dawned on him. She had created the rift between him and Kadar. He should not feel jealousy for _any_of his fellow assassins; they were a brotherhood, with ties of blood and bonding. Samantha had sent all of those ideals crashing down.

He saw only one way that this path would lead him, and it was not to becoming a master assassin as he had always dreamt of. For a moment he wondered if that was what he still wanted even now. An image of having a family and living a simple life invaded his mind.

That thought alone was enough for Altair to throw any of the emotions that he retained away.

"No," he growled and pushed Samantha off of him. She landed unceremoniously on the ground.

The assassin stood and, without looking back, walked away.

Samantha sat on the ground a mixture of confusion and devastation etched onto her face.

A moment later what had happened truly sunk in.

Samantha pulled her knees up to her chest as a sob wracked through her body. Her hands trembled violently as she grasped a fistful of her dress. Tears began to fall down her face.

She had been wrong for believing that Altair would share any of her feelings.

* * *

><p>Woah, Kadar and Sam? Who saw that coming?<p>

Damn, Altair really knows how to screw everything up. I'm pretty sure I even cried a bit while writing this chapter. Unfortunately it's all necessary.

I love parties by the way! If anyone's curious about the music I had in mind check out _River's Dance _and _Saffron's Wedding Dance_ by the Bedlam Bards from their Album On the Drift.

Next chapter starts the beginning of the game! I'm really excited about it :)

I hope you all enjoy the New Year coming up! Stay tuned for a new chapter that will come soon!

Click that little review button down there and tell me what you all think! Don't be shy my fellow assassins!


	15. Chapter 15

I'm back already! :) This has been such a long chapter, and game dialogue was hard to work around in order to include Sam and Amy.

My lovely reviewers!

xVentressx: Calm down :) there will be a comeback! (just not in this chapter though, because Altair is still a jerk.)

unknown author 5342215: Your comment made me so very happy :D I can't tell you how much of my heart and soul I have put into writing this fanfiction, so I'm glad you like it so much!

Crazyuser: She's going to have to get through much worse than just emotional turmoil :( "Though we bleed, we must push on!" -Dredg

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Safety and peace to you all in this New Year

~Ballistic Babydoll

* * *

><p>Chapter fifteen: The catalyst<p>

Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.

-Henry Ford

Sam had barely slept that night and had made it to her room out of sheer force of will. Needless to say, she was not happy when a knock came at her door very early the next morning.

"Go away!" She yelled loud enough so that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear.

"Wake up novice," was the reply from the other side of the wood.

"Go away, I don't want to talk to you!" Sam yelled louder as she sat up and glared at the door.

"I have no need to speak with you. We are required in Al Mualim's study."

Samantha groaned loudly wishing that she could just crawl under a rock and away from the man outside her door; she couldn't even bear to say his name anymore.

Unfortunately duty called. The woman pulled herself out of the covers and dressed quickly, not caring if her robes were disheveled or not. She quickly braided her hair to one side and tied it with a leather cord.

* * *

><p>Altair waited less than patiently outside of Samantha's door. After the past nights events he had changed; he felt colder and distant from everyone. He was set on the path that would make him a heartless killer, the one that he believed would allow him to become a master assassin.<p>

The door opened slowly and he glanced at Samantha. He noticed the new dark circles beneath her eyes. Under closer inspection he noticed that her eyes were also bloodshot.

His novice barely glanced at him for a moment before roughly pushing past him, her shoulder jarring into his.

* * *

><p>Samantha continued walking. If Altair was going to be a jerk then so could she.<p>

Within a few minutes she was climbing her way up to Al Mualim's study. Sam immediately noticed upon arriving that Amy and Malik were also present.

"Good, I'm glad you two have arrived." Al Mualim's voice pulled Samantha's attention to behind the large desk that the head assassin worked at.

"We would have been here sooner had my novice not taken so long."

Sam's blood was already boiling and she pulled her hood over her head so that the shadow would conceal her rage.

"No matter," the head assassin said calmly, "I have a very important mission for all of you."

Sam wondered why Amy was being brought into another mission, but her question was quickly answered.

"I know that I have said that Amy would not follow you on another mission Samantha, but under these circumstances..."

"If I may, what circumstances, master?" Malik asked; he did not want to endanger Amy either.

"I believe that the Templar's have found a great treasure, an ancient artifact."

"What does that have to do with me?" Amy asked curiously.

"The artifact is something very similar to the necklace that brought you here, my dear. This mission is of the utmost importance, we _must_get this relic before the Templars do."

"Where is it?" Malik questioned.

"Workers have unearthed it in Solomon's Temple. You must leave immediately; Kadar will be waiting in the stables and will also accompany you."

Had this mission not been with Altair she would have been thrilled. To find another item similar to the necklace that had brought them to this time was a godsend.

"I would suggest having Samantha and Amy remain here, they will hinder the mission," Altair advised his master.

Samantha hated the assassin standing beside her, hated him to her very core. Her heart throbbed with both loathing and desire for him. She was torn between the two emotions, and that was what she abhorred the most.

"No, Samantha has learned much under you, Altair, and has just as much cause to go as you do. Amy, it is up to you if you wish to go on this mission or not." Al Mualim sounded slightly angry, as if tired of Altair questioning him.

"Since Sam is going I would like to go." Amy told the master assassin after a moment of silent deliberation.

"Very well, safety and peace." Al Mualim dismissed them as they returned the gesture with a fist placed over their heart and a slight bow. "Godspeed," he added softly.

The journey to Jerusalem was long, taking three days, but it did not take long before Amy and Malik noticed a change in their two friends.

Samantha refused to speak about what had happened to Amy, so Malik was left to confront his friend.

"Altair!" Malik greeted as he matched the pace of his horse with that of the other assassin's.

Altair only grunted in response.

"What has been troubling you?"

Silence was Altair's response. Knowing he would get little out of the assassin he skipped straight to his real question. "What has occurred between you and Samantha?"

Malik could see the glare his friend gave him from beneath his hood. "That is none of your concern," he growled.

"My friend, any concern of yours is a concern of mine," Malik said as he placed his hand on Altair's shoulder.

The other assassin pulled Fakir to a quick stop and Malik copied his actions. Sam, Amy, and Kadar continued trotting not far ahead.

"You truly think me your friend? I am your superior, nothing more." Altair spat.

Malik was taken aback. "You've changed," he breathed softly.

Altair let out a snort of derision and kicked his horse back into a trot, leaving Malik behind.

Malik looked sadly at the back of his childhood friend; he had chosen a path without companionship, a path of arrogance and one he believed that would lead him to power. He knew it was folly, but Altair was beyond listening to reason.

Slipping into Jerusalem had been easy, and under Altair's orders the group did not stop in the city's bureau to rest. The assassin's continued on until they had reached Solomon's temple.

Samantha was exhausted. Sleep no longer came easily to her as it had before, and her dreams were now filled with nightmares. She wished that she had never kissed Altair; perhaps things would have been as they used to be. Silently hiding her feelings was preferable to rejection and the way he now treated her.

"Samantha, are you feeling alright?"

She felt a hand placed softly on her shoulder and she looked up to meet Kadar's blue eyes. Sam couldn't be mad at him, and half of her wished that it was he who had found her staring up at the stars. "I'm fine; maybe we can talk after we finish the mission though?" A small smile made its way onto her face as the handsome man grinned at her.

"Of course! I will be glad to speak with you about whatever you'd like," Kadar said kindly as he squeezed her shoulder once before removing his hand.

"Wait!" Sam heard Malik address Altair, "There must be another way. This one need not die."

The woman watched in horror as Altair forced the older man who had been in the corridor to his knees and plunged his hidden blade into his neck. The man was no soldier or Templar, just an innocent worker, mostly likely trying to provide for himself and his family.

"An excellent kill," Kadar praised from beside her, "fortune favors your blade."

Samantha was speechless, throughout following Altair on many missions she had yet to see him stray from the three tenants. Something was horribly wrong.

"Not fortune," Altair retracted his blade, "Skill." The assassin rounded on the blonde and Kadar. "Watch a while longer and you might learn something," he sneered.

"Indeed," Sam watched as Malik stepped in front of Kadar, "he'll teach you how to disregard everything the master's taught us."

"You broke the first tenant!" Samantha stepped up next to Malik, joining him in confronting Altair.

"And how would you have done it?" The assassin asked, disregarding the woman and only acknowledging Malik.

"I would not have drawn attention to us." Malik's voice rose increasingly louder as he spoke. "I would not have taken the life of an innocent, Sam is right, what I would have done is follow the Creed."

"And what does she know?" Altair laughed, "She is but a useless novice."

The look Altair fixed her combined with his words stung Samantha deeply. This was no longer the Altair that had saved her from Abbas, nor the one that had danced with her during the festival. This was a monster.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words," the assassin spat, "it matters not how we complete our task, only that it is done."

"But this is not the way of-"

"My way is better," Altair cut him off.

"Your way is _wrong_!" Samantha stepped closer to Altair, attempting, and failing to intimidate him.

"Stand down, novice," he growled, "or I will not hesitate from cutting you down as well."

Sam let Amy pull her away from the assassin but continued to hold his glare.

"I will scout ahead, try not to dishonor us further," Malik told the party as he sprinted ahead. He was fed up with Altair; for as long as he had been an assassin he should have known how to put the mission before personal matters.

"What is our mission?" Kadar approached Altair, "My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited."

"The master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple mount."

Sam was having her own conversation with Amy and was hardly aware of the two men's conversation.

"I don't like this," Samantha mumbled to her friend, "you shouldn't have come."

"Sammy, if it's about-"

"It's not about _him_," the blonde hissed, "this is just dangerous, and I have a bad feeling."

Amy sighed and turned her gaze to the ground. "I'm sure everything will be fine," she said reassuringly, but it did nothing to quell Samantha's worries.

"Let us be off," Altair ordered.

Samantha went to run across the first wooden beam that led to a landing, but Altair shoved her away so that he could cross first. The sudden push unbalanced the woman and she fell, barely catching onto the ledge so that she would not plummet to the ground below.

"That bastard," she growled as Kadar reached for her hand to help her up. Sam noticed how his hand lingered on hers for a moment before letting go. His blue eyes locked onto hers and he sent her a small smile.

The group headed further into the temple, their progress was only hindered by one Templar that Altair killed quickly. Samantha's main concern at the moment though was whether or not the ceiling would cave in on them. The stone structure all around them seemed faulty.

Finally they caught up with Malik and joined him in a much larger room. The ceilings were higher than in the cramped passages and they appeared to be on a wide ledge, many feet off of the ground.

"There!" Malik's voice pulled her attention away from the rest of the room, "That must be the Ark!"

"The Ark," Kadar asked in awe, "Of the Covenant?"

Sam gazed up at the artifact. She could barely make out a sort of hieroglyphics carved into a box seemingly wrought of gold; the Apple of Eden sat perched on top of the chest, gleaming in the light of the two torches on either side of it.

"Don't be silly," Altair scoffed, arms crossed. "There's no such thing, it's just a story."

"Then what is it Altair?" Samantha snapped, "If _you _know everything."

She saw Altair turn to confront her. "Quiet!" Malik silenced them, "Someone's coming."

"You would do well to hold your tongue novice," Altair growled lowly.

Samantha glared up at him. "I hate you," she breathed, putting all emotions she was feeling into those three words.

Altair ignored her to look at who had entered the room. Sam followed his gaze and saw three men enter, two in the garb of foot soldiers and the third in a white Templar tunic with a red cross emblazoned on it.

"I want this through this gate by sunrise!" The higher ranked Templar ordered, "The sooner we possess it, the sooner we can turn our attention to those jackals at Masyaf!"

Samantha knew the bald man could only be talking about the assassins. Looking over all of his shining armor she determined that this had to be a high ranking Templar, with more skill than she could ever possess.

"Robert de Sable," Altair growled, "his life is mine!"

"No!" Malik corrected, "We were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."

Samantha rolled her eyes, how did they even know he was going to be here? _She_hadn't heard anything about it at least.

"He stands between us and it," the other assassin argued, "I would say it's necessary."

"There are many ways to reach it without alerting the Templars," Amy pointed out.

"What would you know about it?" Altair rounded on the woman who rarely had a say in the plans of a mission.

"Do not bring her into this!" Malik stepped in front of Amy and fixed Altair with a harsh glare. "Use discretion, Altair!"

"You mean cowardice, that man is our enemy, and here we have a chance to be rid of him!"

"You have already broken two tenants of our Creed. Now you would break the third: Do not compromise the brotherhood!" Malik reminded him.

"You used to be so keen on following the creed," Samantha stepped next to Malik. "'Pride comes before destruction and an arrogant spirit before a fall'," she quoted while holding his gaze.

Altair broke first, tearing his eyes away from hers. "I am your superior, in both title and ability. You both should know better than to question me," he spat.

No one moved to oppose Altair as he climbed down a ladder onto the floor. "Hold Templar's!" he shouted, "You are not the only ones with business here."

Sam, Amy, Kadar, and Malik slowly made their way to join their companion to confront the Templar's. The cat was out of the bag, and the only thing they could do was watch how things played out.

"Ah!" the bald man turned to face them. His chin was covered in stubble from a night of not shaving and he held himself upright in an almost haughty way. Samantha hadn't ever really thought bald men were attractive, but she would be lying if she said that Robert didn't have an odd charm to him. She decided it was probably his French accent.

"Well, this explains my missing man," he said matter-of-factly. "And what is it you want?"

"Blood."

Samantha watched as Malik tried to prevent Altair from attacking, but the other assassin dodged past him, his hidden blade extended. She also noticed that another Templar had joined their opposition, making four skilled fighters that they would have to face should events go awry.

Robert expected the attack and easily caught the assassin by his forearm. Altair tried to push against the hand restraining him in attempt to get his hidden blade closer to his target.

"You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin," Robert spoke as he continued to hold back Altair's attack. "I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message. The Holy Land is lost to him and his; he should flee now whole he has the chance. Stay, and all of you will die."

Samantha watched as the Templar waited a moment to let the grim message sink in. Suddenly she found that Robert was throwing Altair into some of the building's scaffolding. The blonde watched in horror as the wooden beams broke and huge slabs of stone fell to the spot where the assassin had been not moments before, effectively separating them.

Altair would come back though, she was sure of it. He was not one to quit a mission so easily.

"Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!" Robert called and pulled her attention back to more urgent matters.

Samantha unsheathed her sword, feeling its weight in her palms seemed to give her strength. The first soldier approached her warily; she still had her hood up, which would make him think she was a male assassin and not to be trifled with.

The sound of fighting and steel clashing surrounded her as her blade struck the Templar's. She knew that she was a capable sword fighter and attacked with confidence, a vast comparison from her first fight with Jabaar. It was not long before she had struck down her attacker. There were now three left, including Robert.

"Kadar!"

Samantha heard Malik's heart-wrenching scream. Somehow she knew what she would find if she turned around, but she couldn't stop her body from facing the scene before her. Time stood still for that fraction of a second as her eyes fell upon the two brothers, one of which she had very nearly started to have tender feelings for.

Kadar lay on the ground, unmoving. His blue eyes, now without their spark of life, stared endlessly up at the ceiling. Malik knelt over his brother, blood seeping through the sleeve of his tunic, and tears rolling down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with sobs as he clung desperately to the body of his dead brother. She knew in that moment that Altair would not come back for them.

Time continued normally, leaving Samantha breathless.

The woman sprinted over to the assassin and noticed he had killed another one of the Templar's. Unfortunately two more ran into the room.

"Malik," Sam mumbled to him as she gripped his uninjured arm.

He attempted to shake her off.

"Malik!" She said more forcefully this time.

The assassin looked up at her, anguish contorting his face.

"You must go, get the Ark and finish the mission." she ordered him.

Malik did not move.

Samantha had no more time to spare; she roughly pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction that would lead him away from the fighting. "Go!" she shouted and set him into motion.

As Malik sprinted away Samantha faced her two new adversaries. With a pang of fear she noticed Amy pinned in a corner with a Templar holding his sword out in front of her.

Sam lunged at one of the Templar's hoping to quickly find an opening in his defenses, but these two were more experienced in fighting than the first man had been. They did not hesitate to use their superior numbers to their advantage. As the woman blocked a sword an attack came from her side; she moved in time to avoid the full brunt of the attack, but the fist of one of the men still slammed into her head, momentarily stunning her.

The Templar swung his sword back, preparing the killing blow.

"Hold!" Robert ordered.

Samantha panted and stood up straight, once again gaining her bearings.

"Drop your sword Assassin, or your female companion dies."

Sam looked over to see Amy shaking her head, telling her to continue fighting. However, she had already lost Kadar, and she would not stand to see Amy hurt or killed.

Her sword clanged to the floor.

Immediately hands roughly seized both of her arms, and it took all of her restraint not to fight back against them.

Robert slowly approached her, and unsheathed his own sword. She wondered if he had only wanted to kill her himself. He put his blade level with her throat, but surprised her by instead moving his blade up to throw back her hood.

"Ah! I thought I heard another woman speak! So my informant was correct, the assassins have allowed a woman to join their ranks."

Samantha did not speak.

The Templar lowered his sword and approached her; his hand went up to cup her face. "You are no ordinary woman are you?" he whispered lowly, "my informant has told me of where you came from."

The blonde held the man's gaze. Robert, pleased with his new captive, turned to face the rest of his men.

"We ride for Masyaf tonight to reclaim what is rightfully ours! Deus vult!" He shouted, and succeeded in rallying up his men.

He turned back to Samantha. "I shall see what use we can get out of you," his eyes drifted over to Amy, "and your friend before we reach the city."

Sam didn't like the ominous tone the Templar had used and began to struggle against the men holding her as she glared at him. They could do whatever they wanted to her, but if they touched Amy she swore that she would make them suffer.

"Bind and blindfold them! Be sure to strip them of any other weapons!" Robert ordered before walking away to attend to preparations. He was going to march on Masyaf.

* * *

><p>Sam didn't know how long they had been riding, but had felt like many hours. She was blindfolded and her hands were tightly bound in front of her. The Templars had put her in front of one of them on a horse, and the constant movement was beginning to make her feel sick.<p>

The woman worried for Amy; she had not seen her friend since they had been taken from Solomon's Temple. Samantha had a sinking feeling in her stomach, and thoughts nagged in the back of her mind. At the moment she had little time to mourn for Kadar, and thought only of how Altair had betrayed them and left them for dead. Thank God Malik had been successful.

She suddenly felt the horse she was on jolt to a halt and the sound of whispering voices from behind her. Sam was pulled roughly off of the large animal and put onto her feet; strong arms pushed her in the direction they wished her to go and she stumbled along, trying to keep her balance.

Once she had walked some distance she was forced to sit; her bonds were cut, but immediately her hands were forced behind her and tied up once more. The Templar left her and she leaned back, trying to relax her tense muscles. Her back met something soft and warm.

"Sam?" She heard Amy whimper from behind her.

The blonde scooted herself backwards until their backs were touching. "I'm here Amy," Samantha told her friend as she fought against the ropes around her wrists; she finally managed to hold the other woman's hand.

"W-what's going to happen to us?" Amy choked out through sobs.

"I don't know Amy," Samantha breathed, "but I won't let them hurt you."

She felt her friends shoulders shake against her back as she cried softly.

"Forgive me," the blonde whispered, "for getting you into this."

Amy squeezed her hand tighter, "There is nothing to forgive Sammy."

Sam's small smile was more like a grimace as she heard her nickname, and tears welled up in her eyes only to soak into the cloth over her eyes. If they were going to die here, at least she was dying with her friend by her side.

The sound of fabric rustling caught her attention and footsteps approached her. Samantha winced as the cloth was torn off of her and candlelight assaulted her sensitive eyes. Once she had adjusted Sam was able to make out her surroundings.

She was in a large canvas tent that had most likely been set up for the night. Several makeshift wood tables were in place and held brightly burning candles to light up maps that had been strewn across them.

"Will you speak with me now Assassin?"

Sam looked to her right to see Robert leaning against a table and staring intently at her.

"There is nothing to speak about," she spat.

"I disagree entirely, you know, they say you are from the future."

Samantha stared at the sandy ground in front of her; there was no possible way that any rumors could have traveled to the Templar's. Very few people knew of where they came from.

"I am not an extremely patient man," the Templar said as he approached her and knelt down to her eye level, "I suggest you tell me what you know."

"Your Crusade fails, and you will inevitably die," Sam growled, "history will not be changed."

Robert smirked, "We shall see." The Templar stood and turned his gaze to the flap of the tent, "Guards!"

Two men rushed in to see what the matter was, but relaxed after seeing that their superior was in no peril.

"I need a messenger sent to the leader of the assassin's!" he ordered.

One of the soldiers moved to leave but Robert halted him in his tracks. "Wait," he moved out of Sam's view and she felt Amy's hand ripped out of hers as he pulled her friend to her feet, "this one will deliver it with one of our men."

Robert bent down so his eyes were level with Amy's, "You will tell the assassins that if the Ark is not returned to me then this one will die," he gestured to Sam.

Amy shook visibly and tried to steady her breathing.

"If I may," one of the soldiers began and Robert gave him leave to speak, "they will want proof that our captive is still alive."

The bald Templar rubbed his chin in thought, "What you say is true."

Samantha watched wearily as Robert continued to pace in the room. After a moment he stopped and sent her a wicked grin.

"I see you have not yet acquired your hidden blade," he pulled her to her feet by her bound hands, "and still possess all ten fingers."

The Templar cut her bonds and led her over to one of the wooden tables, "Allow me to relieve you of one."

Robert nodded to his guards, one seized Amy and the other grabbed Sam's wrist, forcing her palm against the wood.

Events happened in a dizzying whirl. Robert unsheathed a large knife and her hand was involuntarily made into a fist by her captor, with only her ring finger sticking out. In a flash, the sickening sound of metal cutting through skin and bone reached her ears, followed by white hot pain shooting from up her hand and through her arm.

Samantha's vision was now a red blur and a loud sound buzzed in her ear. Someone was screaming.

Her hazy vision cleared as she felt a hand smack her face. "Stay awake Assassin," Robert teased, "you would not want to dishonor your order, no?"

Sam realized it was her who had been screaming as she clutched her hand, now slick with blood. Amy was crying from the other side of the room where the other soldier still held her.

Robert slipped the severed digit into a small wooden box and handed it to the auburn haired woman. "Proof for your master," he waved at the soldier, "send her to Masyaf."

Amy screamed for her friend as she was pulled out of the room. She could hear the muffled sound of Robert ordering Sam to be bandaged up as the soldier forced her onto his horse outside of the tent. The woman strained her ears, trying to hear anything else that could possibly help the assassins.

"Take her to Acre."

These words were enough and Amy released her momentary composure and broke into sobs. She clutched the box tightly in her hands, nails digging into the wood, as the Templar kicked his horse into a gallop.

* * *

><p>"Altair! You've returned!"<p>

The assassin looked up to meet the other mans gaze. "Rauf," he acknowledged.

"It is good to see you unharmed," the other assassin smiled, "I trust your mission was a success?"

Altair looked away for a moment, breathing deeply, he wished his answer could have been 'yes'.

"Is the master in his tower?" he asked instead.

"Yes, yes; buried in his books as always. No doubt he expects you." Rauf answered, ignoring that Altair did not answer his question.

"My thanks, brother." Altair said sincerely.

"Safety and peace, Altair."

"On you as well," the assassin replied as he departed. The sooner he could get to Al Mualim the better.

Altair made his way through the town below Masyaf and up the slopes to the fortress. It was good coming home, but he knew what he had left behind in Jerusalem.

"Ah, he returns at last!"

Altair watched as Abbas greeted him, grinning mockingly as he leaned against the stone entranceway. "Abbas," he growled.

"Where are the others?" Abbas looked around behind him, "Did you ride ahead hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loathe to share the glory."

Altair did not speak.

"Silence is just another form of assent, and I was so looking forward to seeing your novice again," Abbas jeered, "Perhaps this time before killing her I would have taken her to bed myself."

"Have you nothing better to do?" the assassin growled, fueled with anger of the idea of Samantha being raped by the brute in front of him. He had left her in Solomon's Temple, though, with Templar's who would not hesitate to do the same. Altair grimaced and pushed the thoughts away.

"I bring word from the master. He waits for you in the library." Abbas drew closer, "Best hurry, no doubt you're eager to put your tongue to his boot."

"Another word and I'll put my blade to your throat," Altair threatened.

Abbas leaned back against the wall. "There will be plenty of time for that later 'brother'," he scoffed.

Altair growled and strode past the other assassin, hitting shoulders with him challengingly as he did. He continued through the courtyard of men training and into the main hall of the fortress where Al Mualim's study was.

Taking a deep breath, he started up the stairs to the library. He was nervous about telling his master that the mission had not been carried out. Altair had never before failed in a task set before him.

Altair approached the aged assassin who had been pacing behind his desk.

"Altair!" he greeted him.

"Master," the assassin said, bowing slightly.

"Come forward," Al Mualim eagerly beckoned him, "tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure."

Altair remained where he was, "There was some trouble, master, Robert de Sable was not alone."

His master seemed unfazed at the hinted failure. "When does our work ever go as expected? It's our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."

"This time it was not enough..." Altair said lowly.

"What do you mean?" Al Mualim's face darkened.

"I have failed you..." the words tasted bitter, he had failed many people since the day he had been ordered on the mission.

"The treasure?"

"Lost to us."

"And Robert?" Al Mualim was now grasping at straws.

"Escaped."

He could see the rage grow in his master's eyes as he lowered his gaze; Altair prepared any argument he could muster and braced himself for the berating he was sure to receive.

"I send you, my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before." Al Mualim spoke lowly his teeth grinding against each other. "And you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses!" his voice had risen as the older man attacked him with acrimony.

"I did-"

"Do not speak!" Al Mualim spat, "Not another word!" The elder assassin stroked his beard in thought and began pacing once more, "This is not what I expected. We'll need to mount another force."

"I swear to you I'll find him!" Altair started, eager to redeem himself, "I'll go and-"

"No!" Al Mualim snapped, his ire growing with every word his pupil spoke, "You've done enough!" The man paused and looked around, "Where are the others?"

"Dead," Altair replied softly, part of him hoping that his words were untrue. Another part said that they deserved it if they were not strong enough to defeat their foes.

"No!" The sudden voice made both assassins turn in surprise, "Not dead!"

Altair noticed that the man had arrived alone.

"Malik!" Al Mualim greeted.

"I still live at least!" Malik spat.

"What of Samantha and Amy? Kadar?" the older man asked hopefully.

"My brother is dead," Malik replied angrily, "I do not know of Samantha and Amy's fate. The last I saw they were still breathing, but heavily outnumbered. All of this," he pointed his finger at Altair accusingly, "because of you!"

"Robert threw me from the room! There was no way back, nothing I could do," he tried to defend.

"Because you would not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided! And my brother..." Malik trailed off, "my brother would still be alive! Amy and Samantha would have been here! Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today!"

"'Nearly'?," Al Mualim questioned.

"I brought what your favorite failed to find, thanks to Samantha I was able to find the strength to retrieve the Ark. Here, take it."

The Ark was brought in by another assassin and placed on the table behind them.

"Though it seems I have returned with more than just their treasure..."

"Master! A Templar camp has been spotted not far from Masyaf! They are armed and mounting a force for attack." Another assassin informed the master.

"Take Malik to Anass so that his wounds may be tended," he ordered one assassin and the two left, Malik leaning heavily on the other man for support. "Robert de Sable seeks a battle! Very well, I'll not deny him. Go, inform the others," he told the last remaining assassin other than Altair, "The fortress must be prepared."

"As for you, Altair, our discussion will have to wait. You-"

The master assassin was interrupted once more.

Altair watched as Amy stood before them panting. She had sprinted from the stables where she had left the Templar solider, through the town, and had not stopped running until she had reached the library.

"Amy!" Al Mualim seemed relieved, "Have you brought Samantha with you?"

The woman shook her head, desperately trying to regain her breath so that she could relay her massage.

"Sam. Templars. The-"

"Peace child," Al Mualim placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "take your time."

It was a few moments before Amy had calmed down enough to speak. Slowly, she handed the box she had been clutching for dear life over to the older assassin.

Al Mualim took the box, pulling the top open and curiously looking into it. His hand rose to cover his mouth, "Samantha?"

Amy nodded.

The master assassin handed Altair the box and he also looked inside.

"She is dead then?" Al Mualim asked, defeated.

"Alive! The Templar demands the Ark in exchange for her return."

"This is grave news...we cannot afford to hand over the treasure, it is too important."

"What?" Amy asked, her eyes welled up in tears as she realized what was happening.

"I am sorry, child, it is a necessary sacrifice we must make. Samantha was aware of the dangers she would face should she join us."

"No!" Amy cried and ran to the older assassin, clutching onto his robes, "You can't let them kill her!"

Al Mualim pried her hands off of his clothing, "I am afraid I am going to have to order you to your room until you have your wits about you once more."

Amy was taken, sobbing, from the library by one of the Assassin's who had been standing guard.

"Altair," Al Mualim addressed his pupil.

The younger man had been staring at the floor, one hand clenched to a fist at his side, the other tightly clutching the wooden box that had been handed to him. Samantha was in the clutches of Robert de Sable because of him, and would be subjected to who knows what kind of torture before he finally killed her.

The sound of fighting broke out from the direction of the gates.

"Go!" Al Mualim ordered, "you must make for the village. Destroy these invaders. Drive them from our home!"

"It will be done," Altair bowed as he seethed inwardly.

"Altair!"

The assassin had just returned from distracting and killing Templars so that the citizens of Masyaf could escape from the city and into the fortress.

He approached Rauf.

"Come, Al Mualim's not done with us just yet."

"Where are we going?" Altair asked as he began to follow the other man.

"Up there," he pointed to the tower that Altair had first brought Samantha to for her first Leap of Faith, "we've a surprise planned for our guests. Just do as I do; it should become clear soon enough."

Altair followed the other assassin up the tower and onto one of the platforms; below he could make out the piles of hay. To his right he watched as Robert's forces approached the gates of the fortress.

"Heretic!" the Templar shouted, "Return what you have stolen from me!"

Al Mualim could be made out standing high upon the fortress walls, surrounded by other assassins.

"You've no claim to it, Robert!" Al Mualim shouted back, "Take yourself from here before I'm forced to thin your ranks further!"

"You play a dangerous game!" Robert warned.

"I assure, this is no game!"

"So be it..." Robert gestured at some of the Templars, "Bring forth the hostage!"

Altair watched, praying that it would not be Samantha.

It wasn't. Instead an assassin was brought forth and promptly killed in front of everyone.

"Give me what you have stolen unless you'd like the woman we captured in Jerusalem to die as well!"

Altair listened for an answer. Perhaps the old man would change his mind, but Al Mualim did not reply.

"Your village lays in ruins and your stores are hardly endless! Yet you still oppose the inevitable? How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when the wells run dry and their food is gone?" Robert shouted, he was tiring of the pointless banter with this old man. He was almost positive that threatening the life of the blonde woman would yield results.

"My men do not fear death, Robert! They welcome it, and the rewards it brings!"

Altair sighed, Samantha would not be saved.

"Good!" the Templar shouted, "Then they shall have it all around!"

"Follow me," Rauf said from the platform beside him, "and do so without hesitation."

"Show these fool knights what it is to have no fear!" Al Mualim yelled and gestured at them, "Go to God!"

Altair grinned at the well planned deception to unnerve their foes and jumped from the platform and into the hay below. He jumped out of the hay and saw Rauf also exit uninjured, the other assassin had not been so lucky and had badly broken his leg and was shouting and cursing.

Rauf told Altair that he would stay behind and tend to the other assassin and bid he go on. He also informed Altair about trap that had been laid.

Altair ran out onto the very same platforms he had trained Sam on and across the ravine until he had reached the guard tower and climbed up it. The assassin drew his sword and sprung the trap, cutting loose several large logs that rolled over many of Robert's men.

The Templar called for an immediate retreat. "You will regret this Assassin's!" he threatened, "and the woman we still hold captive shall pay dearly!"

* * *

><p>I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter I've written. It's really hard to make Altair not change immediately from a jerk to caring about everyone again, because these things take time.<p>

Poor Kadar :( I hated writing his death! When Malik screams his name I just picture Eomer's cry of devastation when he finds Eowyn after the battle of Pelennor fields. If you haven't seen at least this part of Lord of the Rings I highly suggest watching it. Karl Urban's performance was phenomenal.

I'm not quite sure how to write Robert's character, I hope I did an alright job.

Samantha is a badass. I wouldn't be able to have my finger chopped off and not pass out.

Please read and review for me :) especially since I'm already having a hard time with the next chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

I don't have much to say about this chapter actually :( Other than that canon dialogue takes forever to write into a story.

Thank you to all of my reviewers and I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long for this chapter!

Safety and peace,

~Ballistic Babydoll

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter sixteen: corruptio optimi pessima<strong>

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."  
>― Friedrich Nietzsche<p>

* * *

><p>Amy had been confined to her room for the rest of the day, and was not allowed to leave until sunrise the next morning.<p>

She had not slept that night and was awake at daybreak; she needed to see Malik, needed to talk to him. Amy had not seen him since Solomon's Temple and wanted to make sure he was safe.

The guard that had been at her door must have left some time during the night because he was no longer there when she went to open her door. Amy didn't bother changing her clothes or worrying about her travel-worn appearance. All that mattered was Malik. If Samantha was gone, he was all she had left.

The corridors were empty so she assumed everyone else was still sleeping. The woman hurried, her slippers slapping softly against the flagstone, until she had arrived at Malik's room, one she had visited often in the past month.

He was not there, and the only things that had been returned were his weapons. Amy's mind was running wild with worry. Had he been hurt? Where could he possibly be at this time in the morning?

She would start her search in the infirmary. 'Perhaps he had sustained some minor injuries and needed to be treated,' she reasoned within her head.

Amy shut the door with a small 'click' and began to make her way downstairs to the rooms where Malik would have been moved to in order to recover under Anass's watchful eye. It did not take long, and she was eager to see her assassin again.

The doors of the recovery wing were all labelled with the names of the men who temporarily dwelled within them. About halfway down the hall she found Malik's name had been written on a piece of parchment and nailed to the door.

Her hand gently turned the cold, brass knob and the wooden door easily swung open. At first glance she saw Malik, asleep amongst the white bed linens. Amy gently closed the door behind her to give them some privacy. She drew nearer to the bed until she could reach out and touch Malik's face.

The assassin had sheets drawn up to his shoulders, and looked as if he was resting peacefully. Amy smiled gently and kissed his forehead, and after a minute he began to stir.

"Malik!" She smiled after his eyes had opened and he noticed her.

At first he seemed happy to see her, but she watched as his face hardened, as if he had just remembered a bad dream.

"You escaped?" he asked incredulously as he sat up.

The sheets fell and pooled around Malik's waist, his torso was bare and Amy could not help from crying out from what she saw next.

"Malik!" Her eyes were already beginning to well up with tears.

Malik grasped the stump that was left of his arm and averted his gaze from hers.

"W-what happened?" She stuttered, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"They could do nothing..." he murmured.

"You mean Anass...I was in my room...I could have helped!" Amy's voice cracked as her legs gave out from underneath her. Her knees hit the stone floor hard, bruising them, but she did not care. She stared at her hands in her lap, shaking violently, and saw her tears fall into her palms. "It's my fault...I could have saved..." Amy could not finish her sentence and began to sob quietly.

She heard Malik move from in front of her. A warm hand was placed under her chin and forced her to look up.

"Do not blame this on yourself..." Malik murmured as he wiped away a few of her tears, "not ever."

Amy watched as Malik moved away again, his back resting against the wall. She bit her lip and tried to dry her eyes. Being strong was something Samantha had always been better at, but now it was her turn.

"You do not have to stay here," Malik told her softly.

"Why would I not?" she asked confusedly and crawled over to where her knees rested on the soft pallet that he laid upon.

"You need not pretend that you still want me Amy. I am an invalid, no longer the man I used to be...I cannot even wrap my arms around you as I once did." Malik did not look at her, was ashamed to.

Amy could not believe what she was hearing. He thought that the loss of his arm would change her feelings for him?

She approached him slowly until she had straddled his waist and was staring into his deep brown eyes. "I love you," she said firmly, "**_nothing_ **will ever change that."

Malik seemed stunned. She had never before told him that she loved him, their affections were mutual, and that had always been good enough for her. Now, though, her feelings needed to be put into words.

Amy leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. "I never wish to be parted from you," she spoke quickly, her voice thick with emotion as she repeated the words he had once said to her. The russet-haired woman kissed him passionately; she had been so afraid of losing Malik, or dying before she had gotten to tell him that she loved him. No longer would she leave his side unless necessary. Time was too precious now to be wasted.

"I thought I had lost you," Malik whispered as he ran his hand through her tangled locks of hair.

"I am here," she assured, "and I will not leave."

Amy wrapped an arm around Malik, making herself comfortable and resting her head on his chest.

"Where is Samantha?" the assassin asked after nearly thirty minutes of silence, "has she been placed in one of the other recovery rooms?"

She bit her lip. "Sam...", her voice was hardly a whisper, "she'll be dead by now."

"Dead?" Malik asked. She could feel his breath coming in short bursts.

"Robert wanted the Ark in exchange for her safe return, and Al Mualim would not give it to him," she said bitterly.

"Amy," Malik breathed and buried his face into her hair, "Kadar and Samantha, both lost to us..."

Amy wrapped her arms tighter around Malik's torso and took a shuddering breath of air.

Malik began to cry silently then as he remembered his younger brother. He had always been by his side: laughing with him, training with him, teasing him. As the elder brother he had promised himself that he would protect Kadar, and he had failed. He still remembered holding his lifeless body, wishing that it had been him who had died rather than Kadar, who had so much to live for. The image haunted him, as if it were no more than a nightmare, but the lack of his brothers' laughing face and bright smile reminded him that it was all real.

Amy and Malik both also cried for Samantha. Amy had lost her best friend, who had always been there for her through thick and thin, and had always protected her regardless of what it cost her personally. Losing Samantha was like losing a sister, and she couldn't bear the idea that all of this would had been avoided if she hadn't have broken the glass case in the museum and accidentally sent them here.

Malik cried because he could see how deeply Samantha's feelings had run for Altair. He knew that his betrayal had hit her hardest, and now she had paid for it with her life. Altair deserved to die, and Sam deserved to live, but nothing could change what had happened. He wished her soul all the joy and love in the afterlife that she deserved, for she had not received it in this world. He cried because Amy would never again see her best friend.

He loved the woman in his arms with all of his heart, and now more than ever, realized how important every moment he spent with her was.

* * *

><p>Altair had returned over the walls of the fortress after Robert's forces had gone. The assassin continued into the courtyard where many men stood around, Al Mualim stood at the head of the crowd on a slightly raised terrace. He approached his master, prepared to be praised and thanked for the splendid help he had just given. Perhaps his blunder in Solomon's Temple would even be forgotten.<p>

"You did well to drive Robert from here. His force is broken. It should be a long while before he troubles us again." Al Mualim spoke as his pupil stood before him.

Altair tried to contain the smirk forming on his lips. Everything would go back to the way it was before. He would be a master assassin now, and although a small part of him in the back of his mind resented the fact that Samantha would no longer be in his life, he told himself that it was better this way. She would no longer tempt him by always being around and things were better off for him.

He didn't waste time considering what would happen to Samantha. He was sure he would soon forget her.

"Tell me, do you know why it is you are successful?"

Altair hadn't expected this, and did not answer.

"You listened! Were it that you'd listened in Solomon's Temple, Altair, all of this would have been avoided."

The assassin's blood began to boil. He was being talked to like he was a child who had just disobeyed his parents. Al Mualim was belittling him in front of everyone.

"I did as I was asked," he growled.

"No, you did as you pleased! Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed-your disregard for our ways!"

Malik had told him. Of course he did, his supposed 'friend' would do anything to make him look bad in front of the master. He was just as bad as Samantha had been, always poking their noses into business that didn't belong to them.

All of these lies Altair continued to feed to himself were only further corrupting him.

Suddenly, two other assassins seized him from behind, tightly gripping his arms so that he could hardly move them. "What are you doing?" Altair demanded. He was better than these men, and did not deserve to be treated like this.

"There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassiun's Creed:" Al Mualim quit his pacing and grabbed Altair's chin, forcing him to make eye contact and focus on his words, "three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost: Stay your blade-"

"From the flesh of an innocent, I know," Altair interrupted, finding this conversation repetitive and useless.

His words were met by Al Mualim's hand slapping him across the face. The assassin gritted his teeth to stop from lashing out at his master as his head snapped to one side. "And stay your tongue! Unless I give you leave to use it," the older assassin snapped.

"If you are so familiar with this tenet, then why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die."

Altair tried to keep his gaze from his master, looking at the ground or at the fortress walls. His pride was being forcefully crushed by Al Mualim and he was being shamed in front of a crowd of people who were weaker than him, who did not deserve to see him brought so low.

"Your insolence knows no bounds. Make humble your heart child, or I swear I will tear it from you with my own hands!"

He had never seen his master so angry before. Altair did not believe he deserved this. The relic Al Mualim had wanted was in his possession. What was there to be angry about? So a few lives had been lost in the process, but there were many other assassins that could stand and replace them.

"The second tenet is that which gives us strength: Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you chose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you struck!"

The assassin continued to listen, believing that after he had been publicly shamed all would be forgiven.

"The third and final tenet, the worst of all your betrayals: never compromise the Brotherhood. Its meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us, direct or indirect! Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger! Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home! We lost Samantha, a more powerful ally than you'll ever know, and you still do not see the error of your ways. Every man we lost today was lost because of you!"

Al Mualim's words haunted him for a moment. He wondered what could possibly be so important about his novice. She was barely a better fighter than Kadar, and showed no real promise of becoming any greater.

His thoughts were short lived as he noticed his master draw a knife.

"I am sorry, I truly am," the older man said morosely, "but I cannot abide a traitor."

"I am not a traitor!" Altair argued and began to struggle against to the men holding him. Things had suddenly taken a deadly turn.

"Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you, Altair."

The assassin felt the pain as his master stabbed him, felt life slowly ebb away from his body. His vision had turned black.

* * *

><p>Altair felt life upon him again as he awoke. He breathed shallow intakes of air into his lungs and held the area where Al Mualim had wounded him. There was no pain, and nothing was there. His vision cleared as he blinked and looked around. The man found himself on the floor in the library, in front of the desk of Al Mualim's study. Slowly, he rose to his feet and gingerly tested his balance. After decided all was well he strode towards the desk that his master was pacing behind.<p>

"I am, alive?" He asked, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "I saw you stab me. I felt death's embrace!"

"You saw what I wanted you to see, and then you slept the sleep of the dead. Of the womb, that you might awake, and be reborn."

His master was talking nonsense. Reborn? He was who he had always been and he would not, could not change. "To what end?" Altair questioned.

"Do you remember, Altair, what it is the Assassins fight for?"

"Peace, in all things," he recited, the words engrained in his mind from his teachings.

"Yes, in all things." His master walked around his desk to approach Altair, "It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another. It refers to peace within as well. You cannot have one without the other."

"So it is said," the younger assassin said insolently. Again, his master was rambling on about spiritual matters that did not concern him.

"So it is!" Al Mualim said harshly. "But you, my son, have not found inner peace! It manifests in ugly ways! You are arrogant and overconfident." His master sighed, "I had hoped you had changed when Samantha was thrown so unexpectedly into your life. You two worked so very well together and it seemed as if you had left the other part of you behind."

Altair hated that his master continued to bring up his novice. How was he to forget about her when she would be continually mentioned? Al Mualim spoke as if she had been his saving grace, when he could only see her presence as a curse.

"Were you not the one to say 'nothing is true and everything is permitted?'" Again he found these words come from his mouth as he attempted to defend himself.

"You do not understand the true meaning of the phrase, my child. It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish." Al Mualim returned to behind his desk. "It is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack!"

The assassin took the blow to his pride without question, deciding it was best if he no longer argued with his master to avoid angering him further. "Then what is to become of me?"

"I should kill you for the pain you brought upon us. Malik thinks it only fair, your life in exchange for his brother's," The older man admitted.

Altair growled lowly, he still failed to see how all of the blame had fallen upon him. If the others hadn't have been so weak they would have come out of Solomon's Temple unscathed. 'But you tried to kill Robert and failed,' a part of him said, 'does that not show weakness in you as well?' The assassin pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind.

"But this would be a waste of my time and your talents. You'll see that you've been stripped of your positions."

The assassin realized that his master spoke truthfully. Everything, even his hidden blade, had been taken from him. He found that some of his armor was also missing.

"Your rank as well," his master continued, "You are a novice, a child once more, as you were on the day you first joined our order."

His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin. Had he heard his master correctly? A _novice_? This was an outrage!

Al Mualim saw that his pupil was going to argue and spoke quickly, "I am offering you a chance at redemption. You'll earn your way back into the Brotherhood. "

"I assume you have something planned," the assassin stated, jaw clenched tightly in anger.

Al Mualim told him of how he was supposed to find the man who had betrayed them to the Templars. He objected to going through such trivial training, but of course his master was more than adamant about it. Altair found the traitor quickly. It had been awhile since he had tracked his targets, but he was more than capable of doing it as he had not but three years ago. Before the sun had even begun to set he brought the traitor before Al Mualim.

"You did well, Altair, and have earned the right to carry a blade once more."

The assassin was handed the sword that his master had just used to kill Masun. It was an old generic sword from the armory, the beautifully crafted one he had received after his initiation was not returned to him. He realized that he should have been grateful that he had been given a weapon at all.

"What will become of the one who helped him?"

"That remains to be seen. Some do ill out of ignorance or fear. These men can be saved. Others suffer from corrupted wills, their minds poisoned and twisted. These men must be destroyed. Soon enough we will shall see what sort Jamal is."

"I have one more question," Altair murmured.

His master looked surprised, "What is it then?"

The assassin heaved a sigh, but was too curious to let his question go unanswered. "Why did you not ask Masun anything about Samantha? He had connections with the Templars, and perhaps information about her whereabouts."

"I am baffled by your concern Altair. From what Malik told me you had lost all care for your student, even threatened her life."

Altair grimaced, "I am only curious."

"I already know of where they have taken her, the information came from Amy. I fear it is a lost cause, though. The Templars would have already killed her, and if not, Acre is no small city to search for her in."

"She is in Acre?"

"It would be folly to waste time searching for her, and you are not to do so." Al Mualim ordered harshly.

"I have no objections." Altair told his master. In fact, it was probably better that he thought she was dead. It would make forgetting that much easier. "I've passed your test, what now?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Oh my child, we've only just begun," his master chuckled. Al Mualim drew a scroll out from underneath his desk, "I hold here a list. Nine names adorn it, nine men who need to die."

Altair could see where this was heading, but he knew it was necessary for his redemption to once again reach his rank in the brotherhood.

"They are plague-bringers, war-makers. Their power and influence corrupts the land and ensure the Crusades continue. You will find them. Kill them. In doing so, you sow the seeds of peace, both for the region, and for yourself. In this way you might be redeemed."

"Nine lives, in exchange for mine." Altair stated matter-of-factly. Al Mualim's words, "for yourself", confused him though. How would killing these men bring him peace? What would he learn from this task that his master was hinting at?

"A most generous offer, I think. Have you any questions?"

"Only where I need begin." The assassin was eager to leave Masyaf; the sooner he killed these nine men, the better.

"Very well, ride for Damascus. Seek out the black market merchant named Tamir. Let him be the first to fall."

'Damascus?' Altair repeated in his head, 'Good, hopefully I will not be headed for Jerusalem any time soon.' His failure was still too fresh to look upon that city so soon.

"Be sure to visit the city's Assassin Bureau when you arrive. I'll dispatch a bird to inform the Rafiq of your arrival. Speak with him, you'll find he has much to offer." Al Mualim released a carrier pigeon and it flew out of the window behind him.

"If you think it best," he replied, slightly confused about having to see the Rafiq. Before, he could enter the city, kill his target, and leave if he so pleased. Staying in the bureau had always been a comfort he had enjoyed, but now he felt the urge to rush and complete his tasks.

"I do. Besides, you cannot begin your mission without his consent."

"What nonsense is this?" Altair spat. "I do not need his permission! It's a waste of time!"

"It's the price you pay for the mistakes you've made," Al Mualim told him calmly. "You'll answer not only to me, but all the Brotherhood as well now."

The assassin remembered that his master had said he was now a novice. He would be subjected to the same treatment as one, the same treatment Samantha had received from him. "So be it," he growled, still disliking the idea.

"Take your equipment and go," Al Mualim waved him off, "prove you are not yet lost to us."

Altair found that some of his armor had been returned to him, along with his hidden blade. He checked that it was in proper working condition and left the library. He headed immediately for Damascus, wanting to arrive there as soon as possible due to the delay that visiting the bureau would cause. The assassin had found his saving grace; it was not his novice, but the names of the nine men he was to kill.

* * *

><p>Samantha had not had an overabundance of experience with pain. Even so, the pain in her left hand was the worst kind of pain imaginable.<p>

It was not worse than the pain throbbing in her heart.

She lay curled up on the ground of the small cell she had been put in within the city of Acre. All of the emotions that she had built up inside her since Solomon's Temple poured out. Hot tears blinded her eyes as images of Kadar, lying dead in Malik's arms, flashed before her. She would never be able to speak to him again like she had told him she wanted to. He had been so full of life and innocence. He did not deserve to die.

Altair did.

Sam's hand trembled as she clenched it into a fist. All of this would have been avoided had it not been for him. He had betrayed all of them when he had chosen to ignore Malik's warning and struck Robert out in the open; his betrayal had only gone deeper when he left them there in that godforsaken room to be slaughtered.

She sobbed loudly, wanting nothing but to loathe Altair with every fiber of her being. Samantha couldn't help but wish this was all a bad dream, that maybe she would wake up and find everything as it should have been. Kadar would be alive, joining her in an afternoon of sparring. Altair would be the man that she remembered him to be. One who was stoic, but deep down was caring and affectionate. That is how she wished she could remember him.

Her surroundings and throbbing hand did not allow her to do so.

The sound of the iron door of her cell being unlocked made her look up curiously. She had been there for nearly two days, and had no contact with anyone other than to receive a few meager meals. One thing she had realized within these two days was that she was completely and utterly helpless. She had no weapons, no form of cover other than her tunic and pants, and nowhere to run. If the Templar's wanted to kill her they could, and she couldn't stop them.

Samantha's heart sunk as two soldiers walked in through the door, clearly not there to give her food.

"'Ello there sweet'art," one of them said, his voice heavy with a British accent.

She backed herself into the corner of the room, knees pulled up to her chest.

"Aw, now don' be like tha' love. We're just here to get a bit of information, righ', John?"

The other man was a bit taller and brutish looking, muscular, but not much going on in his head.

"Righ' you are, B'rtram."

Sam would not speak a word to them. She was not a traitor and would never be one.

"Rob'rt weren't too specific as to how we was to get this information though, other than we ain't supposed to bang ya or muss up that pretty lil' face o' yours."

The woman took a shaky breath. She thought they were here to kill her, not to torture her.

"Well are ya gonna talk or no'? I ain' one for waitin' and I know plen'y o' ways to make ya."

Samantha stared up at the two men. She was deeply afraid, but resolute in not telling the Templar's anything. The only thing she could do was suffer through whatever they could throw at her.

"'ine then. Johnny, get 'er strung up," the smaller man ordered.

Sam pushed herself in the corner as much as she could, and once the man had grabbed her wrists she began to kick and twist in his grasp. She was no match for brute force, and without weapons her feet and hands were useless. The woman wondered what medieval torture consisted of, probably whips and racks. Neither seemed appealing.

Her hands were tied by rope and were hung from the rope on a hook on the wall, arms above her head. As anticipated, a whip was pulled out. John grasped the back of her tunic and ripped it apart, leaving her back exposed except for her chest bindings.

"Oi!" Bertram called, "get those there off too!"

Samantha grimaced as the back of her bindings were ripped and fell to the ground.

"Blimey." She could feel the shorter man's breath on her neck, "I fancy that's the most flawless back I've ever seen."

"Fuck off," Sam breathed. Naturally she was usually a nice person, but this was no place for kind words.

The man laughed and she could feel the butt end of the whip being pressed against her back. "Still got a bit o' fight in ya, do ya? Don' worry, it won' take long 'fore we saddle ya."

* * *

><p>Samantha groaned as her hands were freed from their bonds and she collapsed on the ground. Every movement of her body, every breath, stretched the lacerations on her back further. Throughout the flogging she had received Sam had tried to zone out, to shut her mind out from the pain her body felt.<p>

"Oi! Wench, come in 'ere and get this one cleaned up!" Bertram shouted as he and John left her cell.

Sam was barely aware as another woman entered the room.

"Miss, you must get up," she told her softly.

The blonde obliged as the other woman helped her to her feet. She was led down the hallway and into a separate room; inside was a steaming bath. Sam was in too much pain to wonder why she was being taken care of.

The other woman took her gently by the arm and helped her pull off what was left of her tunic. Once she was stripped down to nothing Samantha tried to gingerly lower herself into the warm water. All was well until she reached her lower back and the water made contact with the open wounds on her back; Sam hissed at the stinging sensation that shot through her.

"Come miss," the woman told her kindly, "you must wash yourself and allow me to clean your wounds."

Samantha knew she had to comply, lest the wounds on her back get infected. With every inch she slid further into the water Sam whimpered and gripped the sides of the porcelain tub until her fingers began to hurt. Finally she was fully submerged and the other woman proceeded to wash her hair and back.

The blonde began to feel much better after exiting the bath; her muscles were relaxed and her back stung less than before. At once the woman who had been helping her lathered a sort of thick substance onto her wounds and wrapped her torso with bandages.

Sam was reluctant to leave the room, but as soon as she was in a new tunic and loose pants a guard came to retrieve her. She was put back in her small cell. Exhausted, the woman collapsed onto the dirt ground, taking care not to lay on her back. Samantha was too tired to cry, too tired to think. Her body was numb other than the dull, throbbing pain from the wounds on her back and from where her ring finger had been. She quickly fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The next day came almost at once, and Samantha was reluctant to wake. She found that an annoying beam of light from a crack, no wider than her finger, in the wall shone right onto her face. Suppressing a groan, she rose into a sitting position. At once she wondered what torture she was going to be put through today.<p>

Morning came and went. The woman did nothing other than rest her back against the wall and shut her eyes. Sam imagined life back home, before everything had changed. She remembered sitting in front of her fireplace as a child, playing with toy sets of knights on horses, as her dad showed her reenactments of ancient battles. They now seemed less ancient and much too real.

She longed for even a moment back in her apartment. A soft bed would be waiting for her, with warm sheets, perhaps even a good book.

Maybe she had been wrong for wishing for something better, something more adventurous to do with her life. When she had read books and watched movies about epic journeys they had all seemed so marvelous and worthwhile. No one had ever bothered mentioning how much strength it took to go on, and how much self sacrifice was put into doing what was right.

It was much easier to give up.

The familiar sound of the iron door drew her attention. The two men entered as they had before, threatening her and asking for information about the assassins.

Samantha did not speak, did not need to. She knew nothing of any of the secrets the assassins kept, and nothing she said would convince the two men that she was truthfully clueless. They would torture her until she died and would still not get anything out of her.

The two men brought burning candles into the room. Taking the hot, melted wax and pouring it onto her forearms. She cried and whimpered as the wax burnt her skin even after it had cooled. She didn't ask for mercy, knowing she would not receive any, and took the pain in stride.

The men left after they had finished for the day.

The same woman returned, taking Samantha away to clean her up once more. Again, the blonde didn't care enough to ask about the treatment she was receiving only minutes after her torture. She dressed numbly and was lead back to her cell by guards. Sam realized that this could only go on for so long; her body could only take so much. Perhaps the sooner she died the better. It would only save her from more pain and suffering.

And so, for the first time in her life, Samantha had given up.

* * *

><p>Everything I write, I write for a specific reason. Whether as a foreshadow or as development; keep that in mind because certain things will become significant :3<p>

I have two ideas in mind for how things will turn out with Samantha. I will create a poll on my profile with option A and option B with no other details than that. Her fate is in your hands, my readers.

Thank you for the continued support :) Please review!


	17. Chapter 17

Hello everyone! New chapter!

Unfortunately the poll is at a tie and that means Samantha cannot be in this chapter. I've had to work it around Altair and I wanted to change a bit so that the plot didn't sound tired out, because I'm sure you've all played the games and do not want to hear what you know already happens with the assassinations.

I beg you all to vote so that I can write Samantha's chapter! (I will only keep the poll up until the end of the week so that I can begin writing)

Forgive me for any mistakes you may find and please review :) I looooove reviews!

~Ballistic Babydoll

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><p>"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone."<br>― John Steinbeck

Chapter seventeen: Revelations

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><p>Altair made it to Damascus in record time, the trip taking less than two days. Fakir was sweating and breathing heavily as the assassin led him to one of the stables outside of the city. He gave his horse an affectionate pat on the neck before taking off his bridle, a stable boy came over then and took over the rest.<p>

The man stretched his muscles, feeling as they tensed and relaxed as he raised his arms above his head. Riding for so long had left him fatigued, and Altair wished for nothing more than a hot bath and a soft place to lie down for the evening. However, his work was not yet complete. There was still the matter of getting into Damascus before the gates closed at dusk. Immediately he had noticed that the guards present at the gates had nearly tripled since the event in Jerusalem. He would have to find a way to slip through them unnoticed.

The walls of the city had no handholds that he could reach in order to scale them, therefore a more dangerous approach was called for, one that required no small amount of luck.

As the assassins gaze wandered he noticed the sun dipping low in the sky. After a few moments he found what he had been hoping for. A scholar, dressed in white robes, was being pushed around by a few guards. He did not know why the Saracen soldiers enjoyed harassing scholars as they did; perhaps they were vying for the power that they craved. Regardless, situations like these had always helped him in the past.

Altair walked determinedly towards the small scene that was occurring just outside the gates, his boots kicking up sand as he went. He observed his surroundings hurriedly, trying to take in any vital information available. 'The guards at the gates would not be able to see me once I make it to the scholar,' he noted.

One of the guards took notice as he approached, "Go away! This does not concern you!"

Altair ignored the man and was on him in a flash, his hidden blade had sunk into soft flesh. Blood began to pour from the wound on the guard's neck and he still clutched at it desperately as his life ebbed away. The remaining soldiers stood in shock for a moment too long and the assassin did not hesitate to stab another, this time in the chest, before unsheathing his sword.

The two remaining Saracen's had drawn their swords while the scholar cowered behind them. Altair flipped his blade casually in his hand, a sly smirk playing across his face. He lunged quickly and the guard he had been aiming at was taken by surprise this sudden movement and barely had time to put up his blade in defense. The assassin felt a familiar rush in his veins as he again swung his sword at his opponent, metal met metal, and he could not keep from his smile from growing wider. He was meant for battle, meant to do this; killing was what he was good at.

His sword plunged through the guard's weak padded armor and into his stomach, nearly hilt deep. As Altair stooped to pull his sword out of the man's body, which now lay prone on the ground, an idea struck him. He grabbed a fistful of sand and threw it into the eyes of the last soldier with all of the speed of a striking cobra. Blinded, the guard flailed his sword around in pathetic attempt to ward off any attacks. It was less than a few heartbeats before Altair had slipped past the man's sword and killed him.

"Bless you boy!" The scholar cried out as the assassin made to wipe his blade clean. "I am forever in your debt! If there is anything I can do-"

"There is," Altair stated, cutting off the man's rambling.

"Only name it and it shall be done!"

"I need to get past the city gates, and there are too many guards for me to pass unnoticed."

The scholar's eyes widened for half a moment as he recognized the man in front of him for what he was. However, the older man also realized that the assassin had just saved his life.

"There are a few of my brothers in the small market just over there," he pointed to an area just outside the gate where a few vendors had set up, "we will conceal you as best we can."

"Very well," Altair growled, "let us waste no more time then." The sun was dipping dangerously low in the sky, and he knew they did not have much time before the guards would close the gate.

The two men made their way over to the small market where the shopkeepers were just beginning to pack up their wares. As they approached several other scholars came forward to greet them, "Brother, are you ready to return to the chapel?"

"Oh yes," the man answered with a sigh, "and I don't think I will be leaving it any time soon."

The others sent distrustful glances towards Altair that he ignored. "Who is this man?"

"He has saved my life and I owe him for it; we must give him safe passage into the city."

Some of the scholars grumbled after hearing this, but the final consensus was that they would aid him.

"We must be quick, simply do as we do and the guards should take no notice of you."

Altair bowed his head and folded his hands in front of him as if he were deep in thought or prayer. He fell into step with the scholars, clothed in white, around him. In the center of the group he walked, hyperaware of his surroundings. The sun had just touched the horizon and the guards dutifully stood their watch. The assassin could hear their breathing as he passed and tried to steady his own. It seemed much too long a time before they had passed out of sight of the gate.

"Thank you for your aid," he told the scholar.

"Anytime you need anything do not hesitate to ask, I owe you much more than simply getting you through the gates of Damascus."

Altair nodded his head in recognition and the scholars left; he was glad that he was finally in the city and could rest after his journey, now the only thing on his mind was reaching the bureau. It would not take long, he knew the city well.

He arrived just as the streaks of pink and purple in the sky began to give way to blackness. The assassin dropped into the bureau with ease, noticing that it appeared to be empty. He knew better, though, and was sure the Rafiq had retired for the evening. Altair himself had not washed since leaving Masyaf and was eager to bathe.

He wandered down the hall until he found an unoccupied room. All of the rooms in the bureau had little furnishing other than a small desk and a pallet on which to sleep. A door on the left led to a smaller adjoining room with a white tub and a polished silver looking-glass.

The assassin made for a furnace in the corner of the room and lit the wood within using the box of tinder and flint he found next to it. He left to draw a few buckets of water to heat and in a while the tub was steaming with hot water.

Altair quickly stripped, throwing his clothes and belts carelessly to the floor. He sighed in contentment as his muscles began to relax as he sunk lower into the deep tub. His arms rested on the cools sides and he leaned his head back while closing his eyes. The soothing water and exhaustion washing over him was enough to put the relaxed assassin to sleep.

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><p>Altair seemingly awoke in the tub, the water was still hot and the room was dark except for the candles, that he did not remember lighting, placed around the room. After a moment he became aware of warm hands massaging his shoulders, kneading the muscles soothingly. He could feel the breath of the person behind him on his neck, but could not turn to see who it was. The hands stopped their action but remained on his shoulders; a soft kiss was placed on his cheek.<p>

"Samantha," he breathed, his eyes closing for a moment as he relished the warmth of her breath fanning across his cheek. He could not see her, but somehow knew, or wanted it to be, the blonde who was kissing him.

Somehow he understood that it couldn't possibly be her; she was dead.

"This is a dream," he voiced his realization and it came out in no more than a whisper.

"Then it is a good dream." Her voice was close to his ear as she trailed small kisses, tracing down from his jaw line, to the base of his neck. He leaned his neck to the side submissively to allow her more access.

The lips disappeared and Altair groaned at the lack of contact.

"You of all people should know that good dreams do not last Altair."

She had said his name, but the once soothing voice had twisted into a tone of hatred and malice. All of the candles that had once been lit were extinguished and nothing but blackness surrounded him. A sharp pain twisted in his chest and the assassin looked down to find a knife protruding from his rib cage his blood began to stain the water red. Altair gasped in pain as he fought to breathe.

* * *

><p>Altair awoke with a start and spit out the water he had swallowed after his head had slipped under the level of the tub. He grasped at his chest where he remembered the knife had been, but it was not there and the pain had subsided. The room was once again empty as he had remembered and the water of his bath was now cold.<p>

His dream had started out perfectly, but he scolded himself for even thinking about Samantha, much less dreaming about her. An aching longing was left in his chest as he scrubbed dirt from his body and face in the unpleasant freezing water.

That night he was reluctant to sleep, lest he once again find himself in a dream with Samantha. However, this did not happen, and his sleep was only filled with inky blackness until morning.

* * *

><p>Altair awoke early that morning, his vision blurry as he sat up. He had slept through the night, but felt as if he had gotten no rest at all. He dressed mechanically and walked out of his room while running his hand through his messy hair. In the main room the assassin picked up an apple and took a large bite out of it, only then did he hear the Rafiq clear his throat behind him.<p>

"Altair, it is good to see you, and in one piece."

Altair turned to face the older man, a frown already etched onto his face.

"You as well, friend."

"I am sorry for your troubles," the Rafiq sounded sincere enough, but it irked Altair that the entirety of the Brotherhood seemed to know of his blunders.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, wanting nothing more than to never hear about what had transpired in Solomon's Temple ever again.

"A few brothers of yours were here earlier, in fact. Oof, if you'd heard the things they'd said..." the Rafiq continued his taunting as he nonchalantly worked on painting a bit of pottery, "I'm certain you'd have slain them where they stood."

The assassin took a deep breath in attempt to calm his soaring temper. "It's quite alright," he replied after a moment.

"Yes," the older man acted as if he hadn't even heard his reply, "you've never been one for the Creed have you?"

"Is that all?" Altair bit back; it was early morning and already he was angry and frustrated.

"I'm sorry," the Rafiq apologized, although he did not sound in the least bit sorry. "Sometimes I forget myself. What business brings you to Damascus? I assure you, the woman you seek is not in this city."

"I do not seek her," he growled back, "I seek a man named Tamir; now tell me where to find him."

"Surely the Eagle has not forgotten how to track his prey?"

"No, but that work is best left to-" he thought of his novice a moment and remembered his own rank, "I understand."

"Go and search the city," the Rafiq offered, "Tamir is a black market merchant so perhaps try the Souk district as well as the madrasah."

"Shall I return here after I have enough information?"

"Yes, I shall give you Al Mualim's marker and you may take the life of your target."

"As you wish," Altair pulled his hood up over his head and prepared to depart.

"One more thing before you leave. Remember that I can shelter you even if the whole city is turned against you, but if you bring enemies to our doorstep I must deny you entrance."

"Yes, to bring an enemy inside would compromise the Brotherhood."

"That did not stop you before."

* * *

><p>It took Altair most of the day to recover the information he required for his assassination. Unfortunately he also gathered the location for his target the next day, meaning that he would have to wait another night in the bureau. The task of nine kills was looking like a tedious feat and one that would require too much of his time.<p>

Once again the Rafiq was nowhere in sight as he entered the bureau. He was half relieved mostly because he did not desire a repeat of that morning; one could only take so much taunting in one day. A plate of food had been set out on the long work table; it was nothing special, cold meat, grapes, a few slices of cooked potato, and a goblet of wine. Altair took it and shoved a bit of the meat into his mouth ravenously as he began to walk in the direction of his room. He had been so taken with tracking his target that he had forgotten to eat since that morning and was starving. The assassin decided that he would scarf down the rest of his food and thenbathe to wash the dust and dirt that had accumulated on his skin from roaming the city.

He went through the process of drawing water and heating it, just as he had the previous night. Altair cautiously lowered himself in the steamy water, wary of falling asleep again. The assassin wished he could have a moment to close his eyes and simply relax like he used to, but it seemed that now he was always haunted by both the memories of Solomon's Temple and of Samantha. He wondered briefly why he could not just be left alone, without these thoughts invading his mind every time he let his guard down. Altair couldn't help but wonder, though, if she was still alive. If she was, part of him wanted her back; the bureau felt empty without her presence.

He dried his body off slowly as he thought; tomorrow he would be able to kill Tamir and be able to return to Masyaf for his next mission. Altair donned a loose tunic to sleep in and returned to his pallet. Life was full of so many unexpected turn of events. He did not wish for any more.

It was warm inside his room and he pushed the thin sheet that lay over his body off of him. Altair lay there staring into the darkness for quite some time before he drifted off into the blackness of sleep.

* * *

><p>The mission was successful. Tamir had been an easy kill; the crowded marketplace had easily masked his motives from the guards and Altair had even found a moment where he was able to speak with his target. The corrupt black market dealer had told him that his pride would destroy him, and now he was beginning to believe it. It had caused all of his recent troubles, so he truly believed that it could be his downfall once more. However, he did not dwell on this thought for very long. Altair was more than happy to return to Masyaf to receive his second mission. Unfortunately, he found that Al Mualim was sending him to Jerusalem; the one place he had begun to loathe.<p>

He could not disobey orders, though, and grudgingly rode to the city. Some three or four days later he arrived to find that security had been temporarily lax due to afternoon prayers. This was good news, for he was weary from travelling and did not wish to encounter any resistance.

Altair made it easily through the gates, masking himself with the influx of people moving into the city. The assassin knew Jerusalem well, and headed for the direction of the bureau. The streets had begun to crowd once more and he found himself being harassed by both beggars and merchants alike. At last, he made it to the bureau. Dropping down, he found the shade provided by the building pleasing compared to the hot sun beating down upon his back. Altair stood in the entrance for a few minutes with his eyes closed, allowing himself a reprieve from the world.

The assassin then strode forward, walking at an easy pace to the main room. His breathing caught in his throat as he saw Malik for the first time since their encounter at Masyaf. The Dai was bent studiously over a map, making marks here and there. He could not help but look guiltily at where his arm should have been.

Altair cleared his throat, "Safety and peace, Malik."

"Your presence here deprives me of both." His words were bitter and indicated that he knew Altair had been there the entire time. "What do you want?"

"Al Mualim has asked-"

"-asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself," Malik finished for him, "Do not waste my time, be out with it."

Altair could not believe the spite with which Malik spoke to him. They had been friends since childhood, and he was now getting a taste of what it felt like to be alone, without friends or allies. It stung him.

"Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal."

Malik cleaned his quill before setting it down upon the table, "It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altair, not mine."

"You would do well to assist me," he growled, "his death benefits the entire land."

"You have never cared about anything except for what benefits _you, _Altair." Malik spoke his name as if it were a curse upon his tongue.

The assassin grew silent, seething inwardly and wondering if he would get any information from the Dai in front of him. "Then don't help me!" he finally exclaimed and threw his arms exasperatedly into the air, "I'll find him myself!" Altair began to stalk away.

A sigh was released from Malik's lips, "Wait, wait. It is better you know where to begin your search, especially if it means you leaving this city sooner."

Altair listened as he was informed of possible places to learn about his target. Once more he began to leave, but something stopped him. "If you are here, where is Amy?" he asked slowly.

"That is none of your concern!" The Dai's voice had risen to nearly a shout as he pointed an accusing finger at him.

The assassin said no more and promptly left the bureau.

Altair _hated _having to track his targets. He felt like he was a boy trying to prove himself a man; the assassin had been a man for many years and should have been treated as such. The assassin punched the man in front of him again, fueled with the rage of having been dishonored and stripped of everything.

"Wait, wait!" The man pleaded, "I will tell you what you wish to know; only spare my life!"

"Speak then." He ordered.

"T-Talal," the greasy haired and scruffy looking man tried to catch his breath, "owns a warehouse in the Barbican north of here. It is his base of operations and he is to leave within a few days along with a large caravan of slaves."

"Is that all?"

"Yes," his informant whimpered, as if he were afraid Altair would hit him again.

"Then we are done here," the assassin concluded with his hidden blade sunk into the man's throat.

Altair headed for the bureau, it had taken half of the day to get all of the information he needed, and luckily that meant that Talal was probably still at the warehouse. He headed with all speed back to the bureau, the sooner he talked to Malik, the sooner the slaver was killed.

The building was quiet as he entered; Altair could barely make out the sound of a quill scribbling on paper. He entered the room to find the unexpected sight of Amy sitting at the desk where the Dai normally sat.

"Amy," he acknowledged as he approached her.

The woman jumped at the sound of his voice; knocking over the ink well she was just about to dip her quill into. Ink spilt across the table and onto the parchment where she was drawing an intricate diagram of the human body.

"I-I am sorry," he tried to quickly apologize as he started forward to right the bottle that was still leaking blackness and ruining her work.

"Altair!"

The sound of Malik's voice stayed his hand and caused his head to snap up towards his dark haired comrade.

"Malik..." he greeted softly.

The assassin watched as a few hushed words were exchanged between Malik and Amy before she sent him a withering look and left the room.

"Why is it you are here? Has disrupting the peace of my bureau become your favorite pastime?" The Dai asked as he wiped up the puddle of ink.

"I did not mean to-"

"You are wasting my time, what is it you need?" Malik snapped.

"I've found Talal and I'm ready to begin my mission."

"That is for _me_ to decide," Altair watched as man in front of him tried to fruitlessly dab away the ink that had spread over most of the parchment.

The assassin slowly recounted what he had learned while the Dai listened.

"Talal himself should prove little challenge," he ended.

"'Little challenge'?" Malik scoffed, "Do you hear yourself, Altair? Such arrogance!"

Altair remained calm as he listened to his friend reprimand him; he had to admit it had been arrogant of him to say that. Perhaps he should think before he spoke.

"Are you satisfied with what I've learned?" He decided it was best to tread carefully.

"No, but it will have to do." Altair was sure that if Malik still had both his arms he would have had them crossed in disapproval. Instead, the Dai handed him a feather. "Rest, prepare, cry in the corner...do whatever it is you do before a mission."

Altair grimaced at his words.

"Only make sure you do it quietly, I want no more disturbances in my bureau." Malik made to leave, but stopped halfway through the back door. "You owe her your apologies, Altair."

The assassin watched as his friend left, leaving him completely alone once more. He had not noticed before how solitary his life would have been without Kadar or Malik, and more recently Samantha. However, these were thoughts for another time. He would leave promptly to assassinate Talal.

* * *

><p>Altair calmly walked through throngs of people making their way down the streets of Jerusalem. He knew the rather inconspicuous building in the middle of the city for what it was. Inside there would be slaves waiting to be transported and sold to men with more money than they knew what to do with; it disgusted him.<p>

The door was unlocked and the assassin allowed it to shut softly behind him. As he walked down the dark corridor he could hear voices ahead.

"Yes, yes. The shipment from Acre arrived today; we will be able to move tomorrow."

"Good," another voice answered, "let us inform Talal."

After the footsteps had faded he continued forward.

"You should not have come here, Assassin."

A voice startled him and he looked at a high window to see a shadow move across it.

"What now, slaver?"

Altair noticed a grate in the floor, a dirty faced man reached up, pleading for his aid.

"These people do not deserve this; they are being led to a life of servitude!"

"You know nothing of the matter!"

"I know enough," Altair stated with a note of finality.

"Do you? You do not know everything, Assassin. I have certain connections that allow me a certain knowledge that you are deprived of."

"Speak plainly!" He demanded and walked further into the building.

"Certain news from Acre has reached my ears, from Robert, perhaps you know of what I speak? Step into the light, and I may divulge what you wish to know."

Altair spotted the beam of light in the center of the large room that Talal had indicated, slowly he approached until he stood in the middle of the light, like an arrow embedded in the center of a target.

Immediately the assassin was on his guard as several men with swords dropped down and surrounded him. Above them, on the second floor, Talal strode out of the shadows. He was dark-skinned, and not a particularly large man. The slaver wore a black tunic with thin vertical gold stripes adorning it; his pants were loose fitting and white. Altair noted the bow strapped onto his back along with a full quiver.

"Now I stand before you, what do you desire?"

"Come down here!" he demanded, "Let us settle this with honor!"

"Why must it always come to violence?" Talal asked with a sigh, "I was only going to inform you of Robert's plans, that is, if you could understand my work. However, it appears you do not, and I cannot allow you to interfere. You must die."

The slaver said these words with a nonchalant air and the men around Altair began to close in. A fight ensued; it took much of his concentration to fend off his attackers, but luckily Talal had confidence in his men and stuck around. The look of dismay on his face when Altair killed his last man was fulfilling in itself. Now it was his turn to die.

"Keep him away from me!" Talal ordered some of other men as the assassin began to climb to the second story.

"Coward," Altair growled as he hoisted himself up and began to chase after the slaver.

He sprinted and jumped across rooftops, always keeping his target in sight. Talal eventually made it onto the streets, pushing people out of his way and attempting to shake off the assassin's pursuit. Altair realized that he was getting further and further behind.

"Samantha!" he cried out, looking towards the rooftops as he ran. Always, she would follow him on missions, and now was one of the times she would be able to aid him by dropping down in front of his target and cutting off any possible route for escape.

No response came, and his heart twinged in pain as he realized that no help would come. The voice telling him that he relied on her too much was smaller in the back of his mind than it had been before. Anger spurred Altair onward and eventually he began to catch up to Talal. Finally, the slaver had taken a wrong turn and was cornered. The assassin was upon him in a moment, hidden blade extended and sinking into the soft flesh of the man's neck.

Talal fell to the ground, still breathing, and Altair turned him over. "You've nowhere to run now, share your secrets with me," he ordered.

The slaver coughed, and a clot of blood escaped his lips to soil his dark tunic. "My part is played," Talal said, his voice raspy.

"You said you heard news from Robert," Altair gripped onto the front of the man's tunic, "tell me what you know."

"You will get nothing out of me, Assassin. Just know that he covets his new prize."

"What is it you speak of?" The assassin demanded as he shook the slaver.

Talal was already dead, the light had already faded from his eyes.

Altair growled in anger and dipped the white feather in his target's blood. He had not learned anything that he wanted to know, and that frustrated him to no end. Talal had said little of Robert, but even an idiot would have understood what he was referring to.

The assassin stalked back to the bureau, in an even fouler mood than he had left it. The guard bells were ringing as he dropped into the hideout and he assumed that they had found Talal's body in the alleyway.

"The deed is done, Talal is dead." He informed Malik as he entered the main room.

The Dai was alone again, Amy nowhere in sight.

"Oh, I know. In fact, the entire city knows! Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?" Malik's voice rose as he spoke.

"No one reprimanded Samantha when she alerted the city of her first kill!" Altair argued.

"Don't you _dare_ speak her name!"

The assassin's gaze was pulled to the door where Amy stood shaking with rage. Immediately he regretted his words as he remembered himself.

"I didn't mean-"

"No, Altair! You have caused enough grief here! Return to Al Mualim." Malik ordered, his voice shook with every word. "I cannot stand your presence any longer, Altair. Leave, and enjoy the life you have made for yourself."

Altair willingly left the bureau. It was hard enough seeing Amy and Malik there and even harder to see the pain in both of their eyes. He knew Samantha was still alive, being subjected to whatever Robert fancied. Talal had given him enough information to determine that. He did not know whether giving this information to his friends back in the bureau would have filled them with hope or subjected them to further grieving.

Either way, he had lost: lost his rank, lost his reputation, lost _her_. Perhaps she was not his to lose in the first place.


	18. Chapter 18

Hello everyone! I hope the delay for this chapter has not been too long. It has been a rough chapter to write and has taken longer than expected. Unfortunately no Altair in this chapter, but hopefully in the next!

I hope you all approve of what I've done with this chapter.

Please review for me everyone! Anything is appreciated :)

~Ballistic Babydoll

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><p>Chapter Eighteen<p>

"We feel free when we escape - even if it be but from the frying pan to the fire."

-Eric Hoffer

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><p>Everything was not as it should have been. Samantha could see that, through the small crack in her cell wall, the sun was shining. The faint sound of seabird calls could still be heard through the thick walls.<p>

Yet all she could smell was the dirt beneath her and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She did not move from her spot on the floor, in fear that her captors would come back and beat her again. Instead, a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. Already Sam knew who it belonged to.

She had yet to speak a word to the woman who cared for her wounds and helped to clean her every day, Samantha should have been grateful, but with all of the physical abuse she was receiving she had little motivation to talk. In fact, a word had not left her lips since Sam had begged Bertram for mercy many weeks ago.

Samantha took notice of the many bruises that covered her arms as she sank into the tub of hot water. The blonde breathed deeply and tried to dispel any thoughts about how sore she was. Steam curled in wisps off of the surface of the water.

"Miss?"

Sam's reverie was broken by the woman's voice beside her. She turned her head and fixed her gaze on the other woman to indicate that she had heard her.

"The rumors," the brunette asked softly, "are they true?"

"That depends on what the rumors say," Samantha answered, her voice hoarse from disuse.

The servant seemed surprised that she had responded and she knelt down beside the tub. "There are whispers amongst the servants, whispers that you are an assassin."

Sam bowed her head, "I hardly live up to that title."

"Why? Do you not even think of escaping?"

"Why should I?" She snapped more harshly than she had meant to, "The fact that I am still here means they have given up on me."

"I have heard word," the servant started off slowly as if she were afraid Sam would raise her voice again, "of a man in white robes who ran through the streets of Jerusalem, chasing a man before murdering him: the most prominent slaver in the city."

Samantha listened intently at her words. A hand was placed on her wrist and her eyes locked onto the soft brown ones of the other woman.

"He shouted a name, as if he hoped a person would appear out of thin air before him."

"What name?" She asked and swallowed thickly, though she already knew the answer.

Silence seemed to permeate in the room a moment.

"Samantha," her caretaker answered, "that is your name is it not, my lady?"

Sam averted her gaze, glaring at the white porcelain of the tub. "It doesn't matter what my name is, no one will remember it a month or so from now when I have died."

The other woman stood and Sam's eyes followed her as she moved. "I took you for many things, my lady, but you did not strike me as one who would give up so easily."

Samantha sat there dumbfounded as the servant stalked out of the room and left her alone. She groaned, realizing that the woman was right. The blonde grabbed a bar of soap off of the wooden stool beside the tub and began to scrub her skin. She didn't know why Altair would be yelling her name through the streets of Jerusalem and, quite frankly, she didn't care. He had betrayed her and now she was paying for it with her battered body. He did not deserve to be a part of her thoughts.

Sam had finished washing and her skin was a bright pink hue as she stepped out of the tub and began to dress. The servant had set things in motion within her. Samantha knew she was not craven, but could not think of any foreseeable way to escape this hell-hole. Many questions swirled though her mind, but they would have to wait to be answered.

* * *

><p>The next morning Samantha awoke to the sound of thunder. A storm had rolled in across the sea and rain poured heavily on Acre. The cool winds had made the room drafty and Sam huddled in the corner of the room, away from the crack beneath the door that the chilly air swept through.<p>

From what she could tell it was still dark outside, but that could have been from the dark clouds that blocked out the sun. Lightening struck somewhere outside and a thunderclap ensued that shook the very foundations of the building. Sam shivered and silently cursed the dreary weather. She thought of how comfortable she would be, curled up in her warm room in Masyaf. These thoughts comforted Samantha and brought her mind away from the goose bumps prickling her flesh. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of the dark, grimy cell. The flagstone was freezing on her bare feet and Sam tried her hardest to imagine the warmth of a fire. Eventually she felt as if her face grew warmer, as if the fire were real.

Samantha opened her eyes to see that her cell was illuminated by torchlight and dark shadows crept ominously across the walls. A rugged face appeared before her, greasy black hair falling into the person's dark eyes.

"You miss me love?"

Sam gave an undignified squeak of surprise and scrambled to press herself further into the corner, wishing she could melt into the wall to escape the man in front of her. Instead, a dirty hand lunged forward and grasped a fistful of her blonde hair. Samantha was dragged to her feet and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Guess wha' lil' dove," Bertram's mouth was close to her ear and she could smell the awful stink of stale ale clinging to his breath, "Robert ain't goin' to be 'ere for a few weeks."

"Let me go!" She shouted; her conversation with the servant the night before had given Sam back some of the fire she had once possessed as she tried to pry his fingers away from her hair.

"No, no love," he taunted, "you're not understandin' the situation." He brought her eye level to him, "Robert ain't 'ere to protect you."

Her cheek stung and her head snapped sharply to the side as the back of the man's hand met her face, his other hand held her in place so she could not fall. Samantha's hand shot up to cradle her cheek, it felt warm, and the imprint of Bertram's ring was prominent against the smooth skin around it.

Before now Sam could not think of any good reason why the man before her could want to hurt her so badly. Perhaps he was displaying a latent reaction to being bullied as a child, or was overcompensating, or wanted to feel powerful. As she lay on the floor, blood running from a cut lip, Samantha knew that these were none of the things that spurned the man before her. Not only was he drunk, but the joy he seemed to gain from hurting her was telling of nothing other than sadism.

Tears were running down her face after a few punches to her gut that brought her to her knees. Another fistful of her hair was grabbed and the side of Sam's face met the solid wall of her room. She was on the floor again and stars danced in her vision. Before there was any time for recovery a solid kick landed on her ribs. The pain was blinding as a crack of her bones was heard and the air was forced out of her lungs. Samantha lay wheezing on the ground, praying to whatever gods were listening that she would be saved. Anyone, anything, would be welcomed.

A few more kicks hit her stomach and she coughed up the blood that she was bound to choke on if she did not spit it out of her mouth. Samantha tried to crawl away from the man, back into the corner. It felt as if she could no longer breathe and her weak attempt at moving away only made her pain worse. On the other side of the room her tormenter was fighting to undo the belt around his pants. Sam wanted to scream, but only more blood came into her mouth as she opened it to shout. This time, though, her prayers were answered. Even if it was not in the way she had expected.

The door that Bertram had not thought to lock flew open with such force that one would think that a bull stood on the other side. Instead Samantha looked back to see Robert fuming, hands clutched tightly into fists. She retched and tried to rid herself of that disgustingly metallic taste that she hated. Bertram seemed to realize the trouble he had just gotten himself into and struggled to pull up his pants that he had gotten down to his knees. He had not thought that he would be misinformed about Robert's departure, and yet there he stood.

"My lord! Now I didn' mean anythin' by it!"

A guard came into view beside Robert. "Put him in a cell of his own and out of my sight before I tear him apart," The templar commanded and the other soldier quickly moved to obey.

Bertram was dragged from the room, cursing and shouting. Samantha cared little about what his fate would be. She wished all of the pain on him that he had caused to her. Sam closed her eyes and lay there, unable to move. Based on the difficulty she was having with breathing she determined that her ribs were probably cracked or fractured. Samantha figured she was lucky that Robert had come when he did, or she would have a lot more to deal with than just a few bumps and bruises.

The templar approached her and she desperately tried to right herself. Sam could do nothing but groan in pain as her body protested at her attempt at moving. Her body was covered in a layer of sweat, and dirt was probably smeared across her face along with her own blood. She was growing very tired of the Middle Ages and wished only to return home, back to the cities, back with Amy, back to museums where all of these things would be only a distant memory.

"I should not have trusted that idiot with anything," she heard Robert whisper venomously.

Samantha wanted to protest as Robert's arms encircled her body to lift her up, but her breath hitched in her throat as a shooting pain went through her chest. She was brought to the washroom she had become so familiar with; the pure white, porcelain tub, bare walls except for a few lit torches. The woman who had taken care of her so many times was patching up some clothing on a small stool across the room. The servant caught sight of Robert and immediately shot up out of her seated position.

"Lord De Sable, what has happened?"

"Nothing that concerns you, clean her up."

Blood was running down the back and side of Samantha's head from where Bertram had ripped out some of her hair and from smashing into the wall. Slowly it was beginning to stain the light brown of her tunic a rusty red. Robert placed her on her feet where she swayed dangerously on the spot. The servant made a beeline to draw water and heat it for a bath while Sam steadied herself by gripping onto the tub. The other woman came over a few moments later and began to try to tug her tunic off.

"This is no time for modesty, milady."

Robert had moved to sit down on the chair where the needle and patchwork clothing had previously been; he seemed to take no notice of the two women. After a few moments of struggling Samantha finally allowed the servant to strip her. Once her clothes had been tossed to the floor she tried to cover what she could with her hands in order to retain what modesty she had left. It seemed like hours that she stood there waiting for the boiling water to cool enough for her to enter the tub. All the while the other woman poked and prodded at her ribs. Samantha closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip in attempt to stop from crying out. Her split lip began to bleed anew from the pressure of her teeth and she immediately eased up and wiped away the blood with the back of her hand.

The water was now ready and Sam eased herself into the tub. She scrubbed her face and most of her body with the small bar of scentless soap offered up and the servant helped her wash her back. Robert sat forgotten on the other side of the room until she had finished with her bathing ritual. Samantha looked across the room to find the bald man staring with a blank expression at the corner of the room. She had soiled his white tunic with her blood and a bit of dirt, but otherwise he seemed prim and proper, much like the high ranking Templar knight that he was. He only took notice of her as she rose out of the tub and wrapped a makeshift towel around her body.

"Leave us," he ordered the servant.

Samantha watched as the other woman left, her eyes pleaded for her to stay and not leave her with Robert. She clutched the towel tightly around her body, sopping wet bangs falling into her eyes. Sam noticed the templar had not risen from his spot on the stool.

"I am impressed; you have yet to say a word against those jackals who you serve." Robert's tone was aloof and uncaring, but she could tell that it bothered him that he didn't get any information from her.

"How many other ways do you want me to say, 'I don't know anything'?" Sam retorted. Although it was still hard to breath, she felt better now that she was face to face with the man behind everything.

"I am now starting to believe that," he murmured, not loudly enough for her to hear.

Samantha leaned against the side of the tub, rubbing her face tiredly.

"Why did you join them?"

"What? You mean the assassins?"

He nodded.

She had never really thought about that. When she first arrived the templar's had tried to kill her and Amy before Altair had stepped in. Altair; there he was again in her thoughts. "They found me first and sheltered me when your men were trying to kill me." Sam figured it was safe to assume he didn't know Amy had come with her from the future so she pointedly left her friend out of the answer she gave.

"Why not join us now?" Robert had fixed his gaze on her, intent upon her answer.

Samantha rolled her eyes, "Seriously? You guys are seeking power and destroying people's lives! Just because someone's view is different than yours doesn't make them wrong."

He didn't speak again for a long while. She was beginning to feel cold as the room grew as drafty as her cell had been, and her wet hair was not helping any. Robert finally rose from his seat and approached her; Sam pressed herself against the rim of the tub, one hand on the towel and the other went out to stop the templar before he could come any closer. He stopped only when she began to push him away with the palm of her hand.

"You are beginning to run out of usefulness, _Samantha,_" his voice drawled in a thick French accent, "and what shall I do with you once that time comes?" Robert's hand wrapped around her small wrist for a moment and clenched it tightly. She gasped at the sudden pressure and recoiled, allowing the templar to close the small gap between them. "No more torture," he promised, "I will not have my toys broken."

Before any other words could be exchanged Robert swept out of the room as if he had never been there. The woman who had helped her through thick and thin reentered and shut the door behind her.

"I take it you heard everything?" Sam asked as she began to towel dry her hair. By now she knew how good servants were at eavesdropping.

The other woman flushed slightly before nodding, "I believe Lord De Sable has unsavory plans for you milady."

Samantha's composure quickly broke as the weight of everything bore down on her and she fell to her knees and clutched tightly at the towel around her. "I don't know what to do," her voice cracked as she spoke.

The servant rushed over to comfort her, "Hush now, it will all be alright."

"How?" The waterworks had begun again and tears were leaking down her face, "How can everything be alright? I'm trapped here for that bastard's entertainment for who knows how long, I'll never see my best friend ever again, and the only two men I cared for are either dead or have abandoned me!" Even she was surprised as the words left her mouth and she broke into uncontrollable sobs. The other woman tried her best to console her, whispering small comforts and rubbing her back soothingly.

"Come now, milady, let's get you dressed."

Samantha had stopped crying by now and allowed a fresh tunic to be pulled over her head before she pulled on clean pants. God, she was a mess. What was there to do now but to accept her fate?

"Do you wish to escape?"

Sam had barely heard the woman and looked up in surprise. "Yes, yes of course I do," she answered, "more than anything."

The servant approached her and cupped her face with a gentle hand, much like a mother would do to comfort their child, "Then I will help you."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Escape? That road had seemed unattainable; she had never been to Acre and had no idea where she was in relation to anything. Sam didn't have the slightest idea of _how _she could escape.

The woman seemed to read her expression. "Robert, he plans a celebration for his continued occupation of Acre. The entire city will be invited and the party will be well guarded. This place?" she gestured around them with a soft smile, "not many guards will be stationed here."

"How will I get out?"

"I will be expected to serve food and drink at the party, and no doubt Robert will plan to take you to bed that night. We will switch places, and you will be able to escape this building in the crowd of other servants who are leaving."

"When is the party?" Samantha was breathless with excitement. She was going to escape! She was going to be free again!

"In two nights, milady."

Before she could stop herself a huge grin grew on her face and she wrapped her arms around the other woman in a tight hug. It was the first time in many weeks that she had smiled or felt this elated.

The servant smiled back while shooing her towards the door, "We must get you back now."

Sam reminded herself that she still had to act the part of the prisoner and forced a stoic expression onto her face, but inside she was crying out in joy.

* * *

><p>The next two days were torture. The only contact she had had with anyone was a plate of food clattering to the flagstone floor twice a day, and the guard's hand reaching into her cell to retrieve it when she had finished. No news came from the servant who had offered to help her escape and that worried Samantha more than a little.<p>

Her days were lonely, and she wondered how long she had been in Acre. Sam had forgotten to count the days after the first three weeks had passed; she assumed it couldn't have been more then than a month. The days were long waiting for Robert's party, and Sam had little to do other than count the bricks that made up the walls of her cell.

One day, she peered out of the small hole in the wall furthest from the door. Not much could be seen and so Samantha took to wearing down the already cracked stone around it with her finger until the hole was a bit larger. It was nightfall by the time she was able to see more than just the tan walls of the adjacent building, luckily she spotted torchlight moving closer to her peephole. Eventually the bearded face of a soldier could be made out and the glimmer of his armor in the flickering light was telling of a higher ranked Templar.

"Good evening my Lord Fournier," greeted a male voice nearby.

"Evenin' lad, I'm here to relieve you." Sam could now see the Templar's face clearly; he had numerous scars running across his aging face that nearly made her cringe. She could only imagine how battle-hardened this man had to be in order to have so many wounds inflicted upon him.

"Very good my Lord; I fear I would have been no use to anyone if I had to stand here much longer." She still could not see the other guard who was speaking but he sounded much younger than the other man.

"I would have been here at the regular time but I had business to attend to."

Darkness had only just set in on the city, so normal guard changes probably occurred right at sundown. Samantha realized that she was regaining some of her deduction skills and continued to listen to the ongoing conversation.

"Aye, Robert has had me running about nonstop for the past three days. Lucky for you lot, you will be attending his celebratory feast. I have been charged with guarding this godforsaken building all night tomorrow."

Sam sighed; this terrifying man would be on guard when she was going to make her escape. She was about to curl back up in her cell floor to sleep when something else caught her attention.

"Do you even know what it is we are guarding in here?" It was the younger man asking. "I thought this was just the servant's sleeping quarters."

"Because that is what Robert wishes for you to see, but I know who he has been keeping in there for the past two months." The older knight confided.

Two months? Had it really been that long?

"Out with it then," the younger snapped impatiently, "I fancy a comfortable bed and a wench to warm it right about now."

"Don't we all?" The older chuckled, "in fact, you're guarding Roberts's bed warmer as we speak, or soon to be, at least."

Samantha nearly cried out in outrage; she was _NO_ man's bed warmer!

"You're joking!"

"'Fraid not, heard she used to roll in the hay with those dogs in Masyaf too. Robert wanted a close eye kept on her."

This was now becoming ridiculous. Did everyone in this century gossip like middle school girls?

"Only a few guards will be posted tomorrow though." The younger pointed out.

"Righ' , but what should it matter? The wench has just as much a chance if escaping as I do sprouting wings out of my back, 'specially since I know what she looks like."

"Not like it matters to me anyways, I'm off to find a warm meal and a brothel."

"Enjoy yourself lad, and let me know how that celebration of Robert's goes."

"Aye, g' night Lord Fournier.

Samantha backed away from the crack, a sinking feeling spreading from her heart to her stomach. This guard knew what she looked like, how could she possibly escape? This plan was folly all along, there was no way she could simply traipse out of Acre like it was no big deal.

She curled up in the corner on the floor, preparing to surrender to whatever fate was in store for her. Now that her dream of freedom was fresh in her mind she found it harder to just sit there patiently waiting to either die or be rescued. No hero was going to save her, so she would have to do it herself.

She fell asleep imagining the feeling of warm sunlight touching her skin and a light breeze tugging at her hair, urging her, challenging her to escape or die trying.

* * *

><p>Samantha awoke early, long before the sun had risen over the horizon. She felt sick to her stomach due to both hunger and anxiety; today was the day. Today she would escape. The party would not occur until later, though, and the day was bound to drag on. Sam had no idea what the servant woman had in mind, but she hoped that it was a good plan.<p>

Morning came in the form of sunlight creeping in through the crack in the stone wall, illuminating a small spot on the floor. She had been huddled in a corner for over an hour, trying to will herself to sleep in order to pass the time. However, her mind was racing with the thought of failure and death.

The sound of metal clattering on the flagstone pulled Samantha from her stupor; near the door was a small plate of bread and cheese. She crawled over to the plate, ignoring the idea of how degrading crawling was. The bread was stale, and the cheese had small spots of mold growing on it. With a look of disgust she pulled the loaf of bread away from the ripe cheese and began to munch on it. Sam wished she at least had some water to wash down her meal, but at least she was no longer thinking about dying.

After eating and cursing whoever had brought her that sad excuse for a meal Samantha tested whether or not her ribs were beginning to heal. Standing up was hard, but she managed with the help of the wall next to her. Slowly she stretched her arms above her head; the pain shooting from her ribs was less than it had been, but Sam knew that if she had to fight or flee she would not get very far.

The anticipation for the coming evening is what was going to kill her. She paced the room most of the day, thinking about seeing Masyaf and Amy again. Malik, too, would be a welcome sight. Samantha had her hands clenched into fists by her side, mumbling the name of the city over and over like a mantra. She would return. She would escape, and return to Masyaf.

Sam jumped and whirled around to face the door as it opened. In walked her servant, but the tan robes she normally wore were replaced with clean, cream colored tunic. Underneath she wore dark leggings with a dark brown belt and bracers to match. Her brown hair was pulled back in a braid and pinned up. She looked younger than Samantha had remembered her being. Then again, before two days ago she had barely acknowledged this other woman.

"Are you ready?" she asked, a smile passing over her lips for a fraction of a second.

"More than ready," Sam agreed.

"Good." The woman moved to pull back Samantha's hair with a leather chord and took a brown cloak and tied it around her neck, pulling the hood up over her fair hair. "The guards outside of your cell have been given payment in exchange for their silence, but within the city you stand alone."

"How?" This all seemed too much for her to believe. There was no way a simple servant could afford to pay off guards and dress as she did.

A dagger was pressed into Sam's hands. Not a kitchen cleaver or a rusty, blunted knife, but a well-made dagger with an intricate hilt that included a red cross emblazoned on it. "In case you should need it," the other woman whispered to her, "but you must hurry now."

Samantha glanced at the hole in the wall that was now dark; she hadn't even realized that night had fallen so quickly. She returned her gaze to the brunette in front of her and their similar hued brown eyes locked onto one another. "Thank you," Sam murmured, knowing that nothing she could ever say would be able to express how thankful she was.

"It has truly been my pleasure." The woman wrapped her arms around Sam in a tight and unexpected hug; an unspoken bond seemed to have been forged between them. "Now, you really must go."

The blonde nodded her agreement and stepped towards the door. Her hand turned the cold brass knob and she allowed a smile to pass over her face, "What is your name? I never thought to ask."

"Maria Thorpe," the brunette answered.

"Maria, thank you again for everything you've done for me. I wish you a happy life," Samantha couldn't keep herself from grinning as she gave the woman another quick hug before dashing out of the door.

* * *

><p>Maria still smiled as she walked out of the small cell. Robert had hoped that perhaps his prisoner would confide in her if she posed as a servant. The poor blonde woman he had brought in was strong and reminded her more than a little of herself.<p>

News travelled quickly though the rank of Templar's as to who his prisoner was, but it was obvious to Maria that she didn't know anything about the assassin's secrets. Regardless, she had cared for her for the past two months. Normally she would have felt insulted at such degrading work, but she was loyal to Robert, and would do nearly anything for him.

She would not let him keep Samantha as a prisoner any longer, though. Her first marriage had been terrible and she had fled her first husband as quickly as she could. Robert was different; he was powerful and honorable, and she loved him. He did not know it, but that was partially why she was so dedicated that she would give her life for him.

So she had helped Samantha escape. Maria had been jealous of the attention Robert had given the blonde and of his intentions towards her. This way he could not have her, and the woman that Maria believed deserved her freedom would have it. All would go back to normal and she would return to her place at Robert's side as his personal steward.

* * *

><p>Samantha's pace slowed as she neared the exit of the building. She had been following the other servants down corridors as they left their quarters to assist at Robert's party. Now, though, the people around her were beginning to thin out and she feared that someone might recognize her if no one was around to conceal who she was. Sam was swept out the door by her feet as she continued on; the night was dark, and the full moon occasionally appeared through the thick mass of clouds that blocked out the stars. In the distance music and merry-making could be heard, and the smell off cooked meat wafted through the streets. Her mouth watered at the idea of food and drink, but she knew that it would be stupid to go anywhere near the party.<p>

She headed in the opposite direction, hoping that she would be able to find the exit of this unfamiliar city. Samantha hadn't even walked five feet before a familiar face appeared before her. Fournier, the Templar from before, was striding towards the building that she had just left for his watch. Sam pulled her hood down low over her head and directed her gaze towards the ground. For a few heartbeats she couldn't breathe; just a few more steps, a few more and she would be past him.

"Excuse me," the gravelly voice of Fournier broke through the silence.

She continued walking as if he hadn't spoken.

"Miss!" He addressed her once more and headed pointedly towards her.

Samantha knew if he caught her what would happen. She had no other choice but to run, and so run she did. She sprinted away from both the party and the knight, her hood falling back uselessly to her shoulders. As she ran Sam could hear the hard thud of the Templar's boots behind her, keeping pace as she sprinted into the night.

She turned down narrow alleyways and up stairs to try and shake Fournier's pursuits, but nothing seemed to be working. The knight was just as close behind her as he had been before. Samantha found herself running into a dead-end courtyard of a small watchtower, and her eyes were drawn to a ladder that led up to the battlements. Cursing, she began to climb, ignoring the burning sensation of splinters as they dug into her hands while she scrambled to get higher. The Templar sheathed his sword and pursued her.

Lighter, and unburdened by armor, Samantha made it to the top well before the knight. Now on the parapet she searched for a way of escaping while clutching at her ribs that now felt like they were on fire. One side led to the city and probably certain death, so she rushed to the far side to see what was there. The moon had once again appeared and its silvery light lit up what lay below on the far side of the watchtower. Before her was the vast expanse of an ocean, its waves shimmering in the momentary glow. The wind was salty and whipped her bangs around, while the dull crash of waves on the rocks below resounded off of the stone ramparts.

Looking back, she could see that the knight had reached the top of the ladder and was heading in her direction. The moon had returned behind the clouds and nothing but inky blackness could be seen before her. She would have to jump, there was no other choice. Sam knew that she stood no chance against a fully armed Templar with only a dagger to defend herself. If she hit the rocks it meant certain death, but turning back also meant death. At least there was a chance she would only hit the water if she jumped.

Samantha took a deep breath to steady herself as she backed away from the edge. With a running start, she jumped off of the battlements and took a true leap of faith.


	19. Chapter 19

Hello everyone! I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long :)

I hope you all like this chapter; I'm quite proud of it! Although, not as much Altair as I would have liked. More of him next chapter, promise!

Everyone please read, enjoy, and review! Reviews make me a happy author!

* * *

><p>Chapter Nineteen<p>

By some miracle Samantha had missed the rocks that jutted out from the depths of the water. However, she had not yet escaped danger.

She had tried her best to keep her legs straight and her arms held tightly at her sides, but Sam's body had still smacked the water below with enough force to drive the air from out of her lungs. Surfacing, she gasped for air as her bruised ribs protested and the water churned violently.

More than once the current had dashed her body against the rocks that could not be seen in the blackness of the night. Bruised and battered, Sam tried to gain purchase on any surface she could.

After what seemed like hours of struggling and fighting against wave after wave, all hope seemed lost. Samantha's arms burned painfully with the effort of staying afloat, and her legs felt as if she had run a marathon. Just as she had begun to think that she could endure no more, Sam's hand caught onto the jagged edge of a large boulder.

Numbly, she registered pain in her hand as the sharp crag cut through her skin. Samantha pulled herself out of the dark water as far as she could, and found that her body was resting on a shelf of rock, raised only slightly out of the tumultuous tide. The frigid water had left her chilled to the bone and her soaked tunic did nothing to warm her.

Sam was exhausted, and could do nothing but shiver violently as she waited for sleep to overtake her. The thundering of waves on the rocks and walls of the watch tower was relaxing despite the circumstances, and blackness overtook her.

* * *

><p>Samantha didn't know what woke her first: the acute pain stemming from her ribs or the cold spray of salt water misting her face. Either way, she had no choice but to crack open her heavy eyelids and push onwards.<p>

Darkness still persisted around her, but a light grey was just beginning to seep into the horizon. It was not yet dawn, and despite her weariness Sam knew she would have to escape the city before daybreak. With what little light she had Samantha could glean that she was still lying on the shelf of rock, now nearly submerged by the morning tide, and that the shoreline was roughly a few meters away.

Still, the current ran swiftly around the rocks, and waves pounded continuously against the battlements and cliff face. One way or another her predicament was life or death. She could stay there and starve and freeze to death, or she could chance possibly being able to escape.

Samantha groaned and her body protested to her movement as she sat up. Every extremity felt as if it had been steamrolled, and she could have sworn her ribs were cracking in half. So, with one hand clutching her side, Sam dangled her feet off of the rock and into the chilly water.

Closing her eyes, she knew there would be no turning back after she had begun to swim. Sam pulled a deep breath of air into her lungs before plunging into the sea.

It took all of her initial effort just to remain afloat as the current threatened to sweep her underneath the surface. Samantha was breathing heavily as she began to scissor her legs in attempt to push herself closer to shore. Every breath she took resulted in no small amount of salty water entering her mouth. In the near darkness her destination was no more than a dark blur, but as she continued to fight that blur eventually began to grow closer.

Hours seemed to pass before Sam finally felt the gravelly bottom scraping against her bare feet. Both arms now clutched at her ribs as she began to stand and support herself. Her tunic was heavy and soaked; the water had finally lowered to her waist, and then her ankles.

Samantha trudged onward doggedly, knowing that if she stopped and collapsed onto the sand she wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. In the growing morning she could see that she had come ashore near a small port where a few small fishing boats were beginning to return from their early outing. The sound of seagulls beginning to call overhead mixed with lapping of the tide brought her mind to better days, when she could relax at the beach for a day without a care.

Sam was in a different situation now; no doubt Robert would have been informed of her escape and had guards looking out for her. She avoided the docks entirely and hoped that she could reach the gates of the city before the sun fully rose. Even now, the sky was continuing to get lighter, becoming streaked with lines of pink that faded to purple and illuminated dappled clouds. She would have to hurry.

The streets were oddly empty and even her bare feet padding on the cobblestone seemed like the thundering steps of a giant to her ears. Samantha kept to the shadows and narrow alleyways, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of the city guards and for the exit of Acre. After a while of slipping in and out of the open, the sun had gotten higher and the cocks were beginning to crow. Sounds of the city waking permeated the still air as people began their morning routines and vendors began to set up their shops.

Sam knew she no longer had much time and began to sprint through the main streets, clutching her side and searching frantically for a route that would help her escape. Her ribs that felt as if they were splintering into a thousand painful fragments brought tears that blurred her vision, but that did not stop Samantha from spotting the archway that marked the exit of the city.

Two guards could be seen working on a series of pulleys to raise the portcullis and open Acre for the day. Sam rushed for cover and began to follow the two men as they left through the archway. Once she had passed out of the city walls it felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The guards left to their post, presumably some unseen barbican away from the main fortifications.

Samantha knew her best chance would be to steal a horse and ride to Masyaf, so she immediately made that her first priority. To her right was a small courtyard where a few monks stood in a circle, chatting away about affairs in their order. To her left was a sheer cliff face with trees, bare and dead, reaching out like old, lifeless fingers.

A narrow dirt road led away from Acre where a few travelers headed toward the city in small groups, but the path was mainly clear. Samantha assumed that not far from the gates there would be stables, like the other cities she had visited, and when she looked again she could spot a small building in the distance.

Sam wanted to run to the stables; anything to get her off of her aching feet, but her injured condition barely allowed her a slow, painful jog. The ground beneath her was sandy, with pebbles of various sizes interspersed here and there. It was especially uncomfortable when she stepped a particularly large and sharp stone, so she deviated slightly from the worn path to walk on the softer grass that lined its edges.

As Samantha reached the stable she made a soft noise of relief. The stable hands were not yet awake and on duty, so she entered the makeshift shack of a building unmolested. Three horses were being boarded there, a young filly, a sturdy destrier, and a mare. The filly whinnied and shifted excitedly as she passed her, but Sam made for the destrier. The war-horse would make a better mount if she needed to escape any enemies, and would probably have more stamina than the younger one or the mare.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her side as she moved, Samantha began to tack the horse with deft, albeit a bit stiff, hands. Her time spent in Masyaf learning to care for her own horse had luckily not been all for naught. The destrier eyed her suspiciously, knowing that she was not the knight that normally rode him, but allowed her to place his bit in his mouth and saddle on his back without complaint.

After she had finished, Samantha gathered some of the oats, meant to feed the horses, into a saddlebag along with a few apples that were lying around. She would need to eat and so would her horse, hopefully she might even be able to steal some food at another town on the way to Masyaf.

Sam approached the horse and rubbed his neck affectionately. "You are my last hope for getting home," she whispered softly, "please get me there safely."

The destrier snorted, as if in response to her.

"Good boy," she praised him as she led him out of the stables and proceeded to mount the large horse.

The sun was high in the sky now, and beat down on her back as Samantha galloped away from Acre, giving its tall fortified walls one last glance before turning her eyes back to the road home.

* * *

><p>The sun had set and the moon shined pearly white in the black sky before Samantha halted her riding for the night.<p>

The sand was still warm from the sweltering heat of the day as her bare feet touched it. Her tunic and rough spun pants had long since dried after she had set off. Despite no longer being freezing the ride so far had been torturous. Everyone she saw on the road had the potential to be an enemy; Sam often lowered her gaze and set her stolen horse to a slower pace when anyone passed her. Lucky she had not yet seen any guards or Templar's yet.

Samantha had ridden the destrier hard at first to get away from Acre quickly, but slowed down before long, not wishing to wear the horse out on the first day. He looked more alive than she did, nipping at her hand as she reached for the saddlebag, as if telling her that he wished to keep going. However, she was beyond exhausted. Sam's eyes burned painfully both from a lack of sleep and the sand that had accumulated near her tear ducts from the ride.

Rubbing her weary eyes, she grabbed an apple from the bag for herself before it went bad, and then gave some oats to her horse. The destrier munched happily on the food, while she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to finish hers. There was no place to tie up the war-horse after she had finished, so she tied a length of rope to her wrist and fell back onto a patch of grass she had found to lie on before quickly falling asleep.

* * *

><p>The sun had not yet risen when her horse awoke her by snuffling beside her ear. With a groan Samantha sat up, a bit more rested, but still sore and tired. Her sleep had been fitful, which had probably awoken the destrier. However, she could not remember any of her dreams.<p>

Sam was loath to get up and begin riding, but she knew she had to get going before the sun rose and the roads became more crowded with travelers. She willed herself onto her feet and into the saddle. Her horse seemed eager to get started and did not seem to mind that she had, in her exhaustion, forgotten to remove the saddle from him the night before. She wished she shared his enthusiasm.

The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon even after nearly an hour of riding. Samantha reasoned that she must have woken up earlier than she had originally thought. A small town appeared on the horizon and she realized it was lucky that she had gotten such an early start.

Sam reined up on the outskirts and tied her horse to a small fence. She would need supplies if she was going to make it to Masyaf, and who knew how long that would take or if there would be any other towns on the way there. She gave the destrier a loving pat on his russet neck and told him she would be back soon.

The town was eerily quiet as she crept through the deserted streets, keeping an eye out for anything she could possibly steal that would be useful. Before long the smell of freshly baked bread reached her nose and immediately her mouth began to water. The aroma wafted through the streets and led her to a baker's house where baskets of rolls and tarts were being set on the windowsill to cool and be sold later that day.

Samantha hated having to steal, but knew it was life or death if she didn't. She waited until the portly baker, in his white apron and with flour smeared face, moved to a back room before snatching nearly a dozen rolls of bread and a few tarts. She stuffed the baked goods into a smaller leather bag that she had over her shoulder and continued walking as if she had never been there in the first place.

Her next goal was to find water. A well was strategically placed in the center of town where all could access its cool water. The sun was beginning to peak on the horizon as she drew a bucket full of water from the dark depths of the well. Sam drank like a madwoman, the freezing water soothing her parched throat and trickling past her dry, cracked lips.

A cock crowed somewhere in the town, marking the second day since her escape. The sound made her jump and stop drinking; she would have to leave soon, before the rest of the town woke. A small drinking pouch fashioned out of soft leather was in the saddlebag when she had stolen the destrier from the stable outside of Acre, and she now took it out to fill it from the bucket. It would hold enough water for perhaps two days, if she was lucky and rationed it carefully between herself and her horse.

Sam set the wooden bucket on the rim of the well and returned to searching the town. The rest of her meandering proved fruitless. She could not find any shoes lying about, although this did not surprise her in the least bit, but did find some clothes hung out on a line to dry. A cotton covering for her head and a spare tunic, in case anything should happen to the one she was wearing, was added to her spoils from the morning.

She returned to her horse that was waiting patiently for her return. His ears pricked up as he heard her approaching and the destrier whinnied, tossing his head nervously. Sam tried to shush him, patting his side soothingly as she placed the stolen goods in his saddlebag. The horse continued stamping his hooves on the ground despite her efforts.

"What's wrong?" She implored the startled animal.

Samantha's attention was drawn to the road behind them. The sound of thundering hooves could be heard and dust could be seen rising in the distance. _**Someone is in a hurry**_, she found herself thinking. A banner became visible as the party grew closer, one that made her heart drop. A red cross emblazoned on a field of white.

"You are one smart horse," Sam murmured to the destrier as she mounted him and spurred him into a hard gallop.

After she was sure they had left the party of Templar's far behind Samantha slowed the war-horse to a canter and eventually a slow trot.

"You need a name my friend," she imparted her thoughts to the war-horse as she patted his neck lovingly.

Sam sat in thought a long time as they continued onward, allowing her thoughts to wander and occasionally to think of a name for her horse.

At nightfall she dismounted and led the horse to the side of the road to eat and rest for awhile. She placed the bag of oats before him while she finished off four rolls of bread and a tart to sate her hunger. Sam washed her dinner down with a large swig from her water skin and then poured some into the leather bag for her horse.

As he drank she brushed through his coat as best she could with her fingers. "Rhaego," she proclaimed suddenly, "your name will be Rhaego." She knew it would take a while for him to get used to his name, but already he had proven himself to be a clever horse.

After Rhaego had drank his fill Sam climbed back into the saddle. The food and water had re-energized her and she figured that putting few more hours between her and the Templars was a good idea. Her mount seemed comfortable with her decision to continue on and broke into a trot once she had settled herself.

They rode at a steady pace, easily covering an extra twenty miles in about an hour and a half. The stars twinkled brightly and a cool gust of wind tugged at her loose ponytail while she rode. A feeling of utter happiness welled up within her with such force that it brought tears to her eyes. Samantha had not been this happy in such a long time and now it seemed as if nothing could dampen her mood. Within a day or so she would be back home in Masyaf safe and sound where she would find Amy and Malik and Altair.

Rhaego snorted in discontent as Sam reined up without warning. How could she have so easily forgotten all of the torture she had been put through because of him? What of how cruelly he had treated her before he had left her for dead at the hands of Robert? She could not forget that again, and nor would she forgive him.

Masyaf is not home, she reminded herself, home is in 2011. Perhaps she could find some way to return there, leaving all of the hurt that remained here behind.

Samantha decided that the time had come to stop for the night. She removed the saddle and bit from Rhaego and rubbed him down as best as she could before retiring on the sandy ground. Dawn would not be for at least five more hours; she would ride again at daybreak and begin searching for any sign that would point to Masyaf.

* * *

><p>Three days passed with only one sign that read 'Masyaf' and pointed north. The day before, she had run out of food and water. Samantha was now sharing what oats were left with Rhaego, and occasionally he would choose to munch on whatever grass he could find. She was exhausted and parched. Her dreams were fitful and her skin felt as if she had liquid fire flowing through her veins. Sam couldn't cool down no matter how hard she tried and she knew that her body was very dehydrated. She had stopped sweating altogether and recognized that it was a very bad sign.<p>

The worst parts were at noon, when the sun was high and no shade was to be found anywhere. The most Sam could do was wrap the cotton cloth over her head like a hood to spare her face from the relentless rays. She would give her destrier breaks by walking beside him through the hot sands that scorched the soles of her feet. Rhaego was a trooper, though, doggedly continuing on when her legs would carry her no further.

On the fourth day Samantha decided she would no longer sleep, in fear that she would not wake up again. Twice she had to stop Rhaego so that she could dismount and dry heave on the side of the road. It would be a miracle if she made it to Masyaf alive. Her hand twinged painfully as she hoisted herself into the saddle, looking down she could see that the deep cuts on her hands had opened back up, leaking blood and puss down her forearms.

The wounds had become infected; she could not keep them clean. In fact, her entire body was covered in a thick layer of dirt and sand, so it seemed her skin was shades darker than its original color. She hated to think what she must look like. Too thin, and frail, more than like. A dirty beggar with a dirty horse would be seen by any outsider.

They had not passed a city since the second day they had set out, nor had they passed any other travelers that could have possibly aided them. Their only hope was in what lay ahead, whether it was another town, Masyaf, or death.

* * *

><p>Altair woke with the sun. He would be leaving Masyaf to kill another target, in what city, he did not yet know.<p>

He washed what remained of sleep from his face in the cool water from the basin in his quarters. After, he dressed in his crisp white tunic and tied the red sash around his waist. Weapons were placed in their sheaths and bracers were strapped onto his forearms. Altair would have to visit Al Mualim before departing, as was now custom for him.

The halls were silent, save for the padding of his boots against the flagstone floors. He swept through the fortress with long strides, taking less than a few minutes to make it to his master's study. The old man had obviously been expecting him; hot coals were smoldering in braziers and Al Mualim sat hunched over a large tome at his desk.

"Master," Altair addressed him as he arrived at the top of the stairs.

The man raised his head, looking older than Altair had ever remembered seeing him. "Good, you are ready for your next mission, I take it?"

The younger assassin nodded firmly as he approached the desk, littered with papers and flasks full of unknown substances.

"In Acre you will find a Templar, named Garnier de Naplouse. The bureau leader there will be able to give you more information on him so that you may put an end to his vile work."

Altair bowed slightly, "Of course, I shall take my leave then."

"Altair," Al Mualim's voice halted him in his tracks before he had even reached the stairs.

He looked back, awaiting what his master wanted to say.

"Do not hope to find Samantha there, one of your brothers stationed in Acre has heard word of her passing."

Altair was nonplussed for a moment before giving a stiff nod and continuing down the stairs. He thought he had already come to terms with the fact that Samantha was dead, but hearing it come from the mouth of his master made it so much more real, more _final_. Already he knew that this trip would be an unpleasant one; it would be best to push through and get it over with.

He passed through Maysaf quickly, as it was still early and there were very few people awake. At the stables he met a young stable hand who had already packed his horse with any supplies he would need for the long trip, and before long he was riding out of Masyaf and onto the main road that would take him to Acre.

Altair had barely been on the road for half an hour before he caught sight of another traveler in the distance, plodding towards him at a snaillike pace. As the person drew closer the more relevant it became that they were most likely a beggar, on their way to Masyaf in hope that there was some coin to be found. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman riding on the fatigued horse due to the covering they wore that hid their face.

He looked down, not wanting to be bothered by the stranger who would no doubt ask him for some money or food. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure reach out to him with thin fingers, nearly black with dirt, as he passed by.

Altair thought for a moment to help the person; it would not take him very long to lead them back to Masyaf and then return to the road. It was his duty to help the weak who could not help themselves, but he had more pressing matters urging him forward to Acre. There was the promise of another kill, and perhaps the opportunity to slit Robert's throat while he was there. There was the opportunity to kill the man who had taken Samantha's life. He at least owed her that much.

With a rough grunt he spurred his horse onward.

* * *

><p>Samantha slumped in her saddle, resting her hands upon her thighs, as she could no longer grip the reins. Her heart had soared as she spotted the white tunic in the distance; the assassin must have been leaving from Masyaf, so she couldn't be very far away.<p>

Her vision had gone hazy, but she could tell he had slowed down his horse. Perhaps he could give her some water, just enough to get her to the city. Sam's dry throat caused her words to stick in her mouth. Nothing but a nearly imperceptible groan left from her parted lips as she had lifted her hand, begging for help.

The rider had spurred his horse past her, and all hope abandoned Samantha. It was all she could do now to stay upright in the saddle. She knew Rhaego was in pain by the way he was moving, but the only thing that could help them was to continue on.

Darkness was growing in the corners of her vision by the minute. Perhaps if she could lie down, just for a moment, she would have enough energy to continue on. Sam's eyes drifted closed, but a soft snort from Rhaego caused her eyes to crack open slightly. Despite how blurred the world was she could make out tall towers framing an entranceway. They had arrived at the gates of Masyaf while she had not been looking.

They had made it back; they were _saved_. Satisfied with how far she had come Samantha gave in to the welcoming darkness that enveloped her vision as her eyelids slid close. She swayed in the saddle, her sleep deprived brain and dehydrated body telling her that now that she was home she could rest peacefully and all would be taken care of.

Samantha did not register the pain as her body slid off of Rhaego and landed in the dirt. The loyal desirer knelt to lie down beside her, whinnying loudly and nuzzling her face with his nose in attempt to wake her.

Pure luck brought Rauf to the just outside the walls of Masyaf where he heard Rhaego, and spotted horse and rider lying on the ground.


	20. Chapter 20

_I want to apologize for the late update. My last semester of school was extremely stressful with exams and graduation. After that I caught a cold and slept for about three days straight. All is well now, though, and I look forward to being able to write much more over summer :)_

_I've also been musing with the idea of making multiple ends to this story that will lead off to two separate sequels (mostly because I'm unsure if everyone will be satisfied with the ending I first had in mind) Feedback on this is much appreciated :)_

_Thanks for sticking with me everyone!_

_DanAlaya, honestly your kind words brought me to tears and made my heart swell! Thank you so so much :) I'm really at a loss of words because I'm just so grateful of your review_

_Sarafinja, thank you for your kind words as well. I try really hard to keep Altair in character, even though it's very difficult because I just wish I could have him be a cold and aloof as well as a complete sweetheart. Anyways, I'm glad you've fallen in love with this story 3 just as I've fallen in love with writing it._

_I'm not quite sure this chapter is exactly how I envisioned it, but I hope you all enjoy and review!_

* * *

><p>"One who is injured ought not to return the injury, for on no account can it be right to do an injustice; and it is not right to return an injury, or to do evil to any man, however much we have suffered from him."<p>

Socrates

* * *

><p>A week had passed since Amy had left Masyaf with Malik. They were bound for the Jerusalem bureau, where Malik would take up the position of Dai. It had been easy enough to convince Al Mualim to allow her to leave; nowadays he didn't seem to care about much, and stayed cooped up in his study for hours. No one seemed to know what he did there, least of all Amy, but the common rumor was that he was pouring over scrolls and ancient, withered tomes. One thing was always certain, though, he never let the Apple of Eden out of his sight. More than once, while she was researching herbs in the library, Amy caught him staring at the polished gold sphere as if it were an enigmatic puzzle that he could not find the wits to solve.<p>

Jerusalem was just as she had remembered it, full of bustling people and sand. The bureau she had never been able to see, Altair had made sure of that with his foolish plan of going to Solomon's Temple before they had proper rest. She had to lower herself down through the lattice roof on her own, as Malik was no longer able to aid her, but Amy did not mind. The bureau was redolent of rich spices along with the stale aroma of burning incense. Already she did not like the dark, musty atmosphere. It was very oppressive, but hopefully Malik would allow her to brighten things up. Many things needed brightening up lately.

Malik had become solemn and stone-faced, save for the occasional smile he wore only for her. These were rare, and did not quite reach his eyes. So much sorrow had befallen them as of late, and it was becoming harder and harder to see anything good.

Amy began lighting candles and oil-filled lanterns; immediately a soft glow lit up the front room of the bureau and cast shadows in the corners. She sat on a plush cushion on the dusty ground and watched dolefully as Malik made his way behind the desk made of smooth cypress. He struggled often with the simplest of tasks, but was too prideful to ask for her help. Not even a week ago in Masyaf he had snapped at her for trying to help him with pulling off his tunic, telling her that he would do it himself or not at all. Now he was attempting to clear the books and scrolls that had been abandoned by the previous Rafiq off of the table and onto a bookshelf.

She watched as he balanced three books and a dozen scrolls in his arm while trying to push them onto the already crammed ledge. Amy cringed as both books and scrolls fell to the ground in a heap, causing Malik to curse and stoop to pick them up again. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip painfully as she tried to refrain from going to help him. It tore her heart in two to see him like this. She rose and padded slowly over to him, the sound of her slippers against flagstone muffled by layers of sand and dust. Immediately she put down a mental note to sweep this filthy place when she had time. By the time she had reached him he had shoved most of the books onto the shelves with the scrolls piled precariously on top.

Amy could feel him tense as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She was rarely able to touch him anymore as she had before; he did not allow himself her comfort. With her face buried into the black fabric of his _djellaba _Amy inhaled his scent, a mix of sandalwood and the sage burning in the incense boat across the room.

Malik breathed a deep sigh, heavy with sorrow. She wanted to make him smile again. Amy tugged up the front of his tunic and fumbled with the ties of his trousers. His hand engulfed hers and stopped her progress.

"Malik, please," she pleaded softly, "I would have you smile again. I want you to be mine still."

He relinquished his grip slowly, after a few moments of inner turmoil. Scarcely a minute passed before the hard thud of boots on the roof was heard. Reluctantly she pulled away and allowed Malik to straighten his clothes before the assassin appeared in the bureau. He was injured, a shallow cut on his thigh, but she would still have to tend to it. As Amy led the man away her eyes glanced back at Malik to be met with his sad half-smile.

A month passed slowly with little change. The afternoons grew longer and hotter as summer progressed and the shade of the bureau, though out of the searing rays of the sun, was still stifling. Days came and went along with the many assassins that called the small building their home for short periods of time. Every once in a while there would be an injury to care for, small or lethal, it made no matter. She hadn't gotten around to sweeping the floors, or dusting shelves. Mostly she stayed near Malik or in the confines of their room. Amy also tried to avoid Altair as much as she could when he came to the bureau, but there had already been several incidents with him that she wished she could forget.

Malik, on the other hand, was restless. He paced behind his desk when there were no maps for him to copy or correct; it seemed that sedentary desk life was ill suited for him. She urged him to go to the markets, and that seemed to sate his hunger for fresh air for a while, but it never lasted. He looked weary, and she knew he barely slept at night. Amy would stay awake well past the rising of the moon and listen to his soft breathing. Every night his breath would hitch as some wild nightmare took hold of his peace, and every morning he would refuse to speak of it. She knew that it must have to do with what happened at Solomon's Temple; she had similar dreams that woke her in the early morning, sweat beaded on her forehead. There was nothing to do but push on and pray that the time would pass quickly, so that life could return to how it had been before.

The message came so sudden and unexpectedly that Amy had thought nothing of it. A plain carrier pigeon fluttered into the bureau, stirring up the stagnant air with grey and white wings. The bird perched on a low shelf, waiting patiently for her to retrieve the small scroll attached to its scrawny leg. This had become a normal occurrence; Al Mualim would send a message regarding details of a mission and Malik would briskly read over it before burning the parchment with the small, flickering flame of a nearby candle. She untied the letter with deft hands and shooed the bird with a small flick of her wrist when it went to peck at her fingers. The pigeon took flight into the rafters where it would remain to rest until it was needed to send a letter back to Masyaf. Amy reached the desk within two strides and pushed the scroll across the worn wood to Malik.

She watched the Dai read the letter with uninterested eyes, but something about his expression made her stir. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes sweeping over the paper and rereading the message over again. After a moment he glanced up at her, his thumb rubbing the parchment uncertainly, as if he was unsure of what to say.

"What did it say?" Amy questioned as her eyes scanned his face carefully. He was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes flicking from the letter and back up to her.

Malik drew a deep breath, "It claims Samantha has returned to Masyaf."

Before he could protest Amy had snatched the paper from his hand; she _had _to read this for herself. "It says she's hurt and that I should return immediately."

The Dai lowered his eyes, "Yes, it does."

"You don't want me to go," she realized.

"The road is dangerous," he turned away from her, his posture stiff.

"I will return," Amy promised, "please allow me to go."

A small humorless chuckle escaped his lips, "I could not stop you from going."

She knew that he wanted her to stay, but if Samantha was alive then she could not remain here. Amy walked around the table to reach Malik, but he did not respond as she touched his cheek, rough with dark stubble.

"I don't want to lose you again," his voice was soft, but strained.

"I will come back, don't you trust me?"

"I do," Malik turned around and brushed her auburn bangs aside to place a soft kiss on her forehead, "It is other people that I do not trust". "Go pack, you can leave tomorrow," he instructed as his hand ran over her shoulder and down her arm before grasping Amy's hand.

She barely slept that night; her mind was racing around thoughts of seeing Sam again. The next morning, though, she was sent off to Masyaf with an assassin as an escort. He had been staying at the bureau for a while, and Amy found that she liked his amiable disposition well enough. The ride was long, and she felt hurried, but they arrived at the city all the same.

* * *

><p>It had been nearly a week since Samantha had passed out outside the gates of Masyaf. She was welcomed with open arms, but had not yet been allowed to leave the recovery wing. The room she was given was unremarkable, with tan walls that were dull and bare. A pallet lay in the center where she now sat. Anass had come to her room a few minutes ago to deliver her dinner, which consisted of barley stew and a small loaf of rye bread. As she ate he sat for a while speaking to her about what was going on in the fortress, but she was not interested this evening.<p>

A week in the small room and she was already going stir crazy. The small cracks on the ceiling she had counted at least twenty times, and the pattern of the wood grain on the small table next to her she had memorized the second day. On the table sat an empty vase, and on the floor next to it was a short stool that Anass was now occupying. As he droned on Sam ran a hand through her hair, now shorter than it had been. It had taken two baths to rid her of the dirt and sand ingrained into her skin. The water of her first bath had instantly turned turbid as soon as she had entered, and the second served to finish erasing all traces of her journey from her. Samantha's hair had been tangled beyond saving, though, and had to be cut just past her shoulders. She missed her long hair, but it would grow back.

Throughout most of the week she had slept and slowly began to build up her strength. Sam finished off every meal, no matter how unappetizing, with not a crumb left. Today was no exception, despite how bland the barley stew was. She ate without complaint as the older man rambled on about some letter he had sent a while ago, wondering if it had gotten to its destination. It took her by surprise as the door creaked open, the heavy wood groaning as it swung inward. She glimpsed a flash of auburn hair before being tackled into a hug; it was all she could do to keep her stew from spilling.

"Amy!" Sam knew her voice was still thin and frail sounding. She let out a small groan as Amy hugged her tighter and her sore ribs protested.

Her friend seemed to realize her discomfort and rose. "Where are you hurt?" She demanded at once.

The blonde pulled her fresh tunic up to just under her breasts, revealing splotches of green and purple of her healing bruises across her ribs. "It isn't all that bad," she told her optimistically, "I'm still alive."

Samantha could her Amy's eyes welling up with tears. "I was so worried," her voice was now no more than a whisper, "I thought I would never see you again."

"I'm here," she reassured. "Besides, I won't die that easily," the lie came smoothly off her tongue. In truth, it was all Sam could do to not think about how close she had come to death.

"You should rest," Anass spoke up, "Amy you will be able to visit longer tomorrow morning."

Sam realized that Amy had dark circles under her eyes and voiced her agreeance, "We both need our rest, and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

The auburn haired woman laughed nervously and nodded, "I will be back tomorrow then." Sam saw her glance back into the room twice before she had left.

"Finish what you can of your soup," Anass told her, "and rest easily."

Sam slumped back onto her pallet once the door had clicked shut. She honestly did not want Amy to leave so soon, but travel had obviously exhausted her. Staying in the recovery room was what she hated so much. It smelled of death.

She had no visitors other than Anass, and Amy would have been a most welcome reprieve. Seeing her friend again was like coming back home, even in this foreign fortress. Samantha decided she would leave the room soon; she would need to speak with Al Mualim. He had not visited her since she had come here, oddly enough, and she wanted to know why.

Samantha finished her stew quickly and blew out the candle that lay on the flagstone floor next to her pallet. With the darkness surrounding her sleep came quickly and she slept dreamlessly.

* * *

><p>Sam awoke early the next morning, refreshed and itching to go somewhere. Immediately she made seeing the Grand Master her first destination. She dressed in the customary clean white tunic of the assassins and struggled slightly in pulling on her boiled leather boots; the area where her ring finger had been removed was still tender and fighting a mild infection, something Anass hoped Amy could aid in curing. Once she was presentable Samantha pulled up her cowl and swung open the door. The hallways were just beginning to fill up with men going to break their fast and train in the courtyard; they paid her no mind as she walked determinedly to the library.<p>

The further she got from the sleeping quarters and the infirmary, the less crowded the halls became, until her footsteps were the only ones echoing off of the stone walls. Torches in brackets were lit every so often, even though the few windows allowed enough light in to see by during the day. All was silent as she climbed the smooth stone staircase that led to the library, nodding to the morning guards as she passed them. By the time she reached the top of the steps Sam was short of breath and the thought of training went through her mind.

A rustling of pages and the scraping of a chair against stone alerted her of Al Mualim's presence in his study. Samantha approached slowly and her eyes fell upon the older assassin, seated in the high backed chair and his eyes pouring over a yellowed and withered scroll. She was now in front of the desk, littered with a dozen books and maps. Her gaze was drawn to the Apple of Eden. There it sat in a dark wooden box, nestled in a nest of red crushed velvet. The light from the open window reflected off of it, making the surface that of a golden mirror.

Without realizing it, her hand moved as if to touch it. The closer her hand came to the Apple the more she noticed the small sphere seemed to be of unfathomable depth. It shifted, shimmered, and changed in the blink of an eye. Carved into it were deep ridges which occasionally seemed to glow and pulsate from within. Just looking at the object was mesmerizing; it seemed impossible that anything so complex could come from this earth. Her hand was nearly touching it now, a few more inches and her fingers would be brushing its smooth surface. The gold was once again reflective rather than translucent, and somehow a face came to appear. As the image cleared, Altair's face could be seen fully on its surface. Golden light from the Apple reflected in his dark eyes.

Samantha's hand withdrew as if she had been shocked by the golden orb, and she spun around, fully expecting to see Altair standing behind her. Nothing but air greeted her. He was not there, and when she returned to face Al Mualim she found that he was not there either. Distraught, she glanced around the room searching for the Grand Master.

The sight of Al Mualim climbing the steps to the library and cradling the Apple of Eden was more than she could bear. Sam glanced over at the wood desk again; the papers were gone, the books were gone, and the box that had held the Apple not even a moment ago was empty.

A hand placed on her shoulder nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"It is good to see you up and about again Samantha, Anass worried you would not live past the first night." That was Al Mualim's greeting before he moved to sit behind his desk.

Sam tried to compose herself.

"Are you feeling well, child? You look as if you've seen a ghost." Al Mualim had placed the Apple in the box and set it aside. The golden sphere appeared dull and lifeless compared to how it had been before.

She could not tell him what she saw; he would think she was crazy, or say that the hot days in the sun coupled with dehydration had addled her mind.

"I am fine," Sam forced herself to smile, "just still recovering."

"I am glad to hear it, and glad to have you back at Masyaf. When Robert took you we feared the worst." Al Mualim was pulling a piece of parchment out from a drawer as he spoke and gathering a set of quills and ink.

It had not been the first time since she had returned to Masyaf that she had wondered whether or not the old man had sent anyone to search for her, but now she was beginning to suspect that he had not. She was just another assassin, and not even that, only a novice. It had been stupid of her to think that she was so important.

"I am back, though, does this mean I may return to my duties?" The question spilled from her lips before she could think about what returning might mean. Any sane person would want to quit after such a close brush with death, but her return meant that she was stronger than anyone had suspected, and that was worth much more to Samantha.

"Are you certain that you wish to continue?"

"Yes," she blurted immediately, and flushed as Al Mualim gave her an inquisitive look. "This," Sam held up her hand where bandages still covered the severed digit, "means much more in this order than anything else. It represents sacrifice and dedication, commitment to being an assassin." She took a deep breath to swallow down the swarm of emotions bubbling up inside her, "I believe I have more than earned my place among you and shown my worth."

Al Mualim had halted his scribbling on the parchment. He slowly placed the quill in the inkwell and folded his wrinkled hands in front of him. The older assassin sat quietly for a long time and Samantha stood before him patiently, waiting and praying that she would be named an assassin.

"Very well," the old man spoke quietly, leaving Sam hanging onto his every word. "You are correct, Samantha, you have more than earned your place among us as well as my trust. Truth be told, I hold you in high esteem. You are more dedicated than half of my men and have a stronger will than they do as well. If you are feeling well enough, tomorrow you will receive your red sash marking you as an assassin. In the sight of all of our order present in Masyaf you will be accepted and no longer bear the rank of novice."

Sam could scarcely contain her excitement. "Thank you, Master," she bowed low, working hard to keep the giddiness from her voice.

She forced her strides to be long and measured as she left the library; all the while thinking: No longer will I be a novice. No longer will the men look down on me. No longer will I take orders from Altair.

Amy was all tears when Samantha told her that she was returning to being an assassin.

"You _just_ got back and you nearly died! Sammy just listen to me this once, and come to Jerusalem with Malik and I to live out your days!" Her friend cried as she sat on her pallet; Sam had come to see her in her old room after leaving the library.

"I've gotten this far already," she explained calmly, "and I have already made my mistakes, they will not happen again."

"You say that now Sam, but what about when someone else betrays you to the Templars? What then?"

That struck a nerve in Samantha that she was not expecting. "I will kill the next man who betrays me," she growled.

Amy realized what she had done and immediately tried to make amends by shifting the subject. "Look, your experience was traumatic. You're bound to begin showing signs of P.T.S.D. Come with me and settle down in Jerusalem. You can find a man and forget about all of this here."

"That's not what I want," Sam told her friend softly. She didn't know what she wanted, but one course of action was clear to her, and that was to remain in the order of assassins.

"What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm trying to prove that I'm worth something!" Samantha snapped, "All this time that's what I've been trying to prove, and now that I'm back here they are naming me an assassin. I don't know why we're here Amy, God knows I want to figure it out, but I'm not going to sit around and hope that somehow we're magically going to get back home."

"I don't want to go home anymore." Amy's voice was barely a whisper, but Sam heard her nonetheless.

"You want to stay because of Malik," Sam acknowledged gently. "I don't know whether I would rather go home or stay here, but being an assassin is making the most out of my circumstances, and that is what I am determined to do."

Amy pulled her into a tight hug, "I swear to God if you get taken again I will go out and find you just so that I can kill you."

That made Samantha laugh softly. She knew that Amy was still not satisfied with her decision, but was glad her friend was willing to work through it. Her laughter then caught in her throat and she broke into a fit of coughing.

"Let's get you back to the infirmary," Amy said with a frown, "I don't like the sound of that cough, and I need to replace the wrappings on your hand."

Sam consented to returning to that dreadful room in exchange for the reassurance by Anass that she would soon be given quarters that better suited her new title as assassin.

That evening she was treated with meat and potato soup accompanied by a loaf of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven. Tomorrow seemed many days away, and she was eager to don her red sash and return to training in order to reaccustom her body to the physical strain. This was a fresh start, and she would take full advantage of it.

Sleep easily overcame her and Samantha slept dreamlessly for most of the night. A nightmare ripped through her peace towards daybreak. She dreamed of Solomon's Temple; everything was the same. Sam could see everything playing out before her just as it had before. This time, though, she stood outside of her body, watching as Kadar was slain and Malik injured. She registered a weight in her palm and looked down to find the Apple of Eden in her hand. Samantha held it up and looked into it; golden mists clouded beneath its solid surface, shifting and forming to resemble Altair's face. Hard and cold were his eyes and she felt a pain burst through her chest. Looking down she saw bright red blood blossoming on the front of her white robes.

Samantha jolted awake, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She began coughing and could not stop until she stumbled out of her bed, poured a glass of water, and downed it. The world began to spin and she sat down quickly, holding her head in her hands. She was tired of these dreams, and tired of seeing Altair in them. One thing she knew for sure, though, she would make him pay for all of the things that he did. Sam didn't know how or when, but he deserved whatever was coming to him.


	21. Chapter 21

Hello everyone! Thank you guys so much for your fantastic reviews! I'll be honest I check my e-mail at least twice every hour to see if any have been posted. I must say, every time I post a chapter I am left with more than a little trepidation as to how much you all will enjoy it. The reassurance is appreciated :)

I would also like for feedback on the separate endings, because I've got both of them planned out completely and each will lead into a different sequel. I just want to do everything in my power to please you guys as well as keep the story my own.

I hope you'll all continue reviewing and making my day complete with your wonderful comments and insight!

Safety and peace everyone.

~Ballistic Babydoll

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><p>"Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."<p>

-Buddha

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><p>Chapter twenty-one: Revenge is a dish best served cold<p>

Samantha stood in front of Amy's room, shifting nervously from her left foot to her right. She did not expect to be so apprehensive about the induction ceremony, but that had been before she remembered Al Mualim mentioning that every assassin in Masyaf would be present. She had nearly looked death in the eyes and yet she still quivered at the notion of standing in front of at least a hundred eyes that were watching her intently. The thought of tripping as she made her way to the dais came to mind, as well as showing up in her undergarments. Sam smoothed out the front of her tunic and adjusted her belt just to reassure herself that such humiliation was impossible.

Amy stepped out of her room and sent her a small smile; she wore a simple tan dress and had braided her hair to one side. "Ready to go then?"

"I am if you are, where's Malik? Isn't he going to join us?" Sam questioned. She had been curious as to why he was not around Amy, before Solomon's Temple they had been practically inseparable.

"Malik is in Jerusalem," her friend explained softly as they began to make their way down the hall and to the courtyard. Evening was near and golden light filtered in through the loopholes in the wall and mixed with the orange glow of the flickering torches.

"On a mission? When will he be back then? I was hoping maybe he would help in finishing off some of my training; I've gotten really out of shape." Samantha rambled as they walked. It was good to speak to someone again, especially Amy. For nearly two long months she had barely spoken a word and now she relished even the slightly rough sound of her own voice.

Sam noticed Amy chewing her bottom lip uncertainly, "I-I'm not sure he will return, at least not for a long while." There was a pause where only their footsteps and breathing was heard. "You see, Malik was made the Dai of the city's bureau after he sustained his injury."

Samantha recalled much too vividly the sight of bright red blood staining the pure white of his robe, and how he had clutched his arm in agony. "You fixed it though, right? I mean, you're the greatest doctor they have here," she stammered out nervously, but as Amy averted her gaze she suspected otherwise.

"I did not get here in time," Amy murmured, "I could have saved his arm if they had just waited."

Sam was surprised at the animosity that had spiked through her friend's voice. Normally she was docile unless provoked, and now Amy was fuming and biting back tears. Samantha grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly as they walked, "What happened is not your fault, you know that."

"That doesn't change what happened."

"Listen, I'm sure Al Mualim will make Altair pay for what he's done, and if he hasn't I will." Samantha tried to sound reassuring, but her voice sounded just as frustrated and angry as Amy's had.

They had now reached the large doors that led out to the bailey, and beyond them the loud buzz of conversation could be heard.

"Listen, today is about you," Amy's smile looked forced as she rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her hand, "enjoy it, and don't worry about me."

Sam gave her friend's hand one last consoling squeeze before letting go, "I'll always worry about you."

Their conversation could not continue as Samantha pulled open the heavy door. The hinges groaned and the last rays of blinding sunlight shone in before the luminous orb dipped below the horizon. Amy left first and Sam watched as she made her way to the edge of the crowd that had gathered below the earthen dais.

Now it was her turn to go out alone, before all of the present assassins and novices alike. She pulled her beaked hood over her head and began walking. Each step was a painful eternity as she walked onto the dirt path that would lead her down to the head of the host. The conversation died down to a low whisper as they caught sight of her. Torches lined the outer edges of the mass, guttering in the evening breeze and causing the faces of men to wink in and out of existence as shadows flickered beneath their hoods. As Sam moved closer all became eerily quiet and she fought to control her breathing.

Al Mualim was now visible, standing near the railing of the dais. He faced her as she approached, and Sam inclined her head respectfully. Beside him was another assassin of higher rank who wore a black _djellaba _and held a small chest. Its smooth wood looked old, but was kept polished until it shone even in the low lighting, and the latch consisted of the symbol of assassins wrought in iron.

Samantha's feet had taken her closer much faster than she thought they would. Her tongue felt as if it had been glued to the roof of her mouth and her palms were beginning to sweat uncomfortably. Before she could check to be sure that she was still wearing all of her clothes properly the ceremony had begun.

* * *

><p>Altair approached the throng of people gathered in the courtyard. He had just arrived back from his mission in Acre and returned with another bloody feather and more questions for Al Mualim. His targets were becoming increasingly cryptic and he was becoming more confused and frustrated.<p>

Now, though, his thoughts were drawn to what was occurring within the fortress. Men were crowded in the courtyard and the night air made standing in the mass of warm bodies nearly unbearable. Altair lingered towards the back, just out of reach of the torchlight. From this far back it would be hard to discern who the commotion was about, but his eyes and ears were sharper than most.

Samantha stood in her white tunic on this dais, raised a good few meters higher than everyone else. If it were not for the congregation before him focused on her he would have thought he was seeing a ghost. Al Mualim stood next to her, looking stoic, and droning on about some sort of brave act. The blonde's name was mentioned in the speech so he must have been speaking about something she had done.

As he looked up from under the shadow of his hood one though occurred to him: He would have to face Samantha again. It was one thing to deal with Malik being the Dai in Jerusalem; his once friend was cold and callous towards him, Altair could deal with that, but Samantha was another story completely. From her personality alone he knew she would never allow him to forget what happened to her because of his actions, and would probably wish to seek some sort of revenge.

Al Mualim opened the wooden box and withdrew a bracer with a hidden blade attached to its underside; it was then that Altair understood why this ceremony was taking place. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was only natural that she would eventually be awarded it, but it irked him that they were now of nearly equal rank. He had worked much harder and much longer than she had, and he was a better assassin than she could ever hope to be.

Samantha spoke the words of their creed. Her voice was quiet and could scarcely be heard. _**She is **_**afraid**_,_ he realized, _**and rightly so**_. The torchlight shimmered on what could be seen of her blonde hair, making it look as if it was glowing as she took the red sash of her rank from Al Mualim and raised it high. Her face, however, was gaunt and she looked as if she hadn't slept or eaten for several or more days. A light breeze picked up and softly blew the sash until it was a squirming red snake held aloft in her hand.

Al Mualim ended the ceremony by giving Samantha his blessings. Afterwards, he knew, they would feast within the dining hall. Altair wondered if she would attend and if he would be safe drinking a mug of ale and filling his belly before he retired. Many of the assassins other than Samantha also looked down on him and his disgrace; it seemed he was unable to escape the past anywhere.

As the procession began filing out of the courtyard it appeared that the blonde was returning to her quarters rather than joining the men to eat. That was good, he supposed, the longer he could forgo having a confrontation with Samantha the better.

* * *

><p>The following day Altair went to Al Mualim to receive the orders for his next mission. Lately, his assassinations were becoming increasingly easy and he was completing them at a rate where within a month and a half he will have erased all nine names from his list. The next name on his shoulders was Abu'l Nuquod, an extremely rich and powerful merchant in Damascus.<p>

It was at the bureau that he found himself a few days later with information sufficient enough to assassinate the greedy man.

"I have learned all I need to know about my prey," he informed the Rafiq.

The man had insulted him upon his arrival and Altair had no great love for him, but he still consented to sharing the information he had gained after wandering the city. Altair found that he was beginning to have more patience even with having to perform his duties such as a novice would.

"The bureau is yours to do with as you please until you are ready to begin."

Altair retreated back into his temporary quarters for the evening. The flickering candles on the far side of the room glinted off of steel as he slid off his bracer. He placed his hidden blade on the rickety wooden table to retrieve in the morning and began unbuckling his belts.

A sudden thump and sound of footsteps alerted him to another assassin entering the bureau. Faintly he heard the sound of the Rafiq's voice but could not make out any words. Altair pulled his tunic over his head while moving towards the ceramic tub in the adjacent room. A chill went up his spine as he began filling the tub with hot water; something was wrong, he knew, but he could not determine what it was.

The assassin took a long look back at the heavy wooden door that barred the entrance to his room. No one knocked and no other sound could be heard throughout the bureau. Altair growled in annoyance and yanked off his boots, throwing them in the corner. His pants soon followed before he slipped into the, now tepid, water. He could not shake his uneasiness for whatever reason, but he could just as easily push it to the back of his mind.

* * *

><p>"Samantha," the Rafiq greeted kindly, "it is good of you to return to my bureau, is there something I can do for you?"<p>

Sam smiled brightly; being away from Masyaf's oppressing walls had done wonders for her. She slept better away from the fortress, looked healthier than she had for many weeks, and it felt as if everything had returned to how it had once been. "I have been assigned a target," she explained, "a merchant by the name of Abu'l Nuquod."

The Rafiq burst out laughing after she had finished. "Our master has a strange sort of humor, does he not?"

Samantha eyed him suspiciously, "I don't understand."

The man motioned for her to come closer and she obeyed. "Altair has come here for the same man; it seems that you two will be hunting together," the Rafiq informed her.

The blonde blinked perplexedly, trying to grasp what Al Mualim could possibly be thinking in sending her after the same target as Altair. She chewed her lip for a moment before a thought crossed her mind; Sam turned away from the Rafiq's desk, towards the small sitting area on the opposite side of the room. She smiled wickedly and clenched her fist; this was better revenge than even she could have imagined. "You're required to give me my targets whereabouts, right?"

"Yes, considering your new rank."

"Perfect," Samantha spun around towards the Rafiq; on her face was a grin that could have curdled milk. "I need to know where my target sleeps; I'll be hunting by night this time."

As soon as she had learned of her targets location Samantha bolted for the rooftops, eager for her subtle revenge. It was not yet dusk, but the sun was dipping low on the horizon, causing the sands past Damascus's gates to appear as if they were shimmering. Sam sucked in a deep breath and took off in the general direction of the rich district. She knew that she was incredibly out of practice, but jumped from roof to roof confidently nonetheless. Any mishaps and she could have fallen to her death, but Samantha's mind was elsewhere.

Altair would be in his bed by now, sleeping comfortably while she stole his kill right out from under him. It was almost too good to be true. At first only a more violent and headfirst revenge had occurred to her, but now Al Mualim had given her an opportunity that she could not ignore.

Night had fallen by the time she made it to the turquoise colored tiled roofs that marked the rich district. In the distance she could see a few smudges of orange, torches she realized, illuminating guards as they patrolled the roofs. None were in her way and therefore Sam did not have to worry about them. The dark made it more difficult to locate which building she needed, but after much squinting she found the purple silk banners bearing a goblet overflowing with gold coins that the merchant kept as his personal sigil.

The windows of the edifice were brightly lit by candles and the banners rippled in the soft wind that was picking up. Samantha approached carefully, her head whipping around at the slightest sound. No guards could be seen or heard on rooftops, but no doubt some had to be posted outside of her targets room. Sam reasoned that if she finished the deed quietly she could go undetected.

The blonde stood there in the darkness for a moment, debating on the best way to go about scaling the protruding bricks and ledges in order to reach the windows. Once she had mapped out her path Sam sprinted forwards, her feet left the roof and she sought out handholds on the adjacent building. The impact was jarring, but she clung firmly to the building for half a second before she started climbing higher.

Her first destination was the one unlit room near the top of the building where she guessed her target had retired for the night. Samantha's face grew hot as she climbed, the physical strain quickly taking its toll on her body. By the time she had reached the windowsill her hands were shaking and her perch was becoming more difficult to maintain. Sam pulled herself up and into the room in one swift motion; she halted there for a moment, just to be sure that her actions had not been heard. A few feet away she could hear the sound of a deep rumbling snore; it had to be her target.

Samantha came up from her crouch slowly, her movements as smooth as the silk banners outside. Her footsteps were no louder than a mouse's as she approached the bed, ears listening for any sign that the man had woken up. The snores continued on, though, and she was now standing centimeters from the side of the bed. She activated her hidden blade, the soft 'shink' of metal against metal cut through the silence just as easily as it would cut into her prey's flesh. A simple thrust of her blade would be all she needed; her mission would be completed.

That moment of hesitation was all it took. An acute pain blossomed through her torso, catching Samantha off guard. Looking up, she realized that she could now see the whites of her targets eyes.

"You did not think I would expect an attack on my life? That was a grave miscalculation, assassin."

She barely processed the words he had spoken; her gaze was fixed at the steel of the dagger catching what light of the moon filtered in through the window. Sam's hand went to touch the area of the wound; numbly she held her hand back in front of her. It was dark with blood.

* * *

><p>Altair woke later the next day, refreshed and prepared to complete his mission. All uneasy feelings from the previous night were forgotten as he stood before the Rafiq.<p>

Pale sunlight filtered in through the lattice roof, illuminating specks of dust as they settled on the floor and the hardwood desk. A fresh breeze was stirring the stagnant air and Altair breathed deeply. All seemed tranquil and as it should be.

"I wish you luck with your mission Altair," the Rafiq spoke as he passed over the unblemished white feather, "you will need it."

The assassin peered suspiciously out from under the shadow of his hood, "Is there something about this mission that I have not been informed of?"

"Other than the fact that your adversary has already departed," he chuckled, "nothing, nothing at all."

Malik was the first name to come to mind, but Altair quickly rationalized that he was still in Jerusalem. A second name replaced the Dai's.

"Samantha," he questioned incredulously, "she's here?"

"Arrived last night and-"

Before the Rafiq could finish his sentence Altair had snatched up the feather and dashed out of the bureau. The methodic sound of his boots clacking against the tiled roofs filled his ears and matched his racing heart. An angry heat crept up his neck at his riled thoughts.

_**Damn her**_, he fumed internally; just as things were beginning to improve she had to return and ruin everything he had tried to rectify.

Altair skidded to a halt behind a stack of storage crates, waiting for a city guard to face the opposite direction.

It is one thing for her to come back, but now she planned to steal his kill? If he caught her at Abu'l Nuquod's palace it would take all of his restraint not to kill her.

By the time Altair made it into the grand estate the sun was overhead and beating down upon the festivities. The rich attendants seemed to pay no mind, as they had plenty of wine and entertainers to keep them occupied. However, his eyes were scanning the crowd for any signs of Samantha.

A flash of white drew his attention to a fountain that seemed to be gushing rich, red wine. Sitting on the edge of the font was the woman he had been searching for, a goblet held in her right hand while the left tapped against the ledge disinterestedly.

The assassin started in her direction, not having a sure plan in mind, but positive he would think of something by the time he reached her. Altair's pace quickened as she stood; he began pushing some of those people aside who could not move out of his way quickly enough.

He was close now. So close that if he jumped forward he could have tackled her to the ground. The assassin was stopped short, though, as the sound of a man clearing his throat sounded from an upper balcony. Looking up, he caught sight of the man that they were both hunting. Carbuncular and grossly obese, Abu'l Nuquod was easily the size of two men put together.

"Welcome, welcome!" The merchant called out to the crowd who had turned their attention to him. "Thank you all for joining me this evening. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy all the pleasures I have to offer! Take your time, I will wait."

A mad dash was made for the fountains of wine as people refilled their cups to the brim and drank heavily. His eyes travelled back to Samantha, her cup remained in her hand that hung to the side, forgotten. Altair could not risk confronting her right now, surely she would create a scene, and that could not be risked. He forced himself to take a step backwards until the right moment arose to kill his target.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" Abu'l was speaking once again, "It is good to see you all happy, for dark times are upon us and war threatens to consume us all." Altair watched the man on the balcony, spewing his pleasantries and toasting to Salahuddin and their aid to his cause. The people around him clapped and drank heartily from their goblets. It sickened him to think about how corrupt each member of the crowd must be; indulging in lavish parties while the sick and poor starved on the streets around them.

"And so, I say enough! I've pledged myself to another cause. One that will bring about a new world in which all people might live, side by side, in peace. A pity none of you will live to see it."

Altair had hardly been listening to Abul's speech, but his change in tone immediately pulled him from his reverie. Had he just threatened the crowd of nobles around him? Who could this other 'cause be', if not the Templars?

A man next to him began coughing violently, wheezing for air that would not come to his lungs as his windpipe constricted. Others began coughing too, falling to the ground like flies as their lives came to a horrid end.

_**The wine**_, he realized in horrification, _**the bastard poisoned every one of them!**_

The sound of a goblet clattering to the ground in front of him caught his attention. Samantha had bent over, coughing into her hand. Without thinking, Altair rushed forward, gently touching her lower back and trying to glimpse at her face. His mind raced wildly for some way that he could help.

Samantha jerked out of his grasp, eyes looking at him accusingly.

"Please tell me you did not drink the wine."

The blonde had stopped coughing, but he did not miss the smear of blood on her hands as she wiped them on the dark pants beneath her tunic. "I'm fine," she spat, "I didn't drink any." Her gaze did not lower from his, nor did it grow any softer.

Altair released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The twang of crossbows filled the air around them; bolts were fired into the crowd and brought both assassins back to their situation. He took off without warning, not looking back to see if Samantha was following. It was his mission and he would finish it with or without her interference.

* * *

><p>Samantha growled and took off after Altair, flinching as crossbow bolts whizzed harmlessly by her.<p>

The previous night she had experienced the worst nightmare. It angered her that just as she was beginning to think they had vanished one had hit her full force. Maybe Amy was right, though, maybe she was developing P.T.S.D.

Those thoughts aside, she had moments ago been holding poisoned wine in her hand; one sip would have been fatal. The idea had haunted her before a fit of coughing violently racked her body and the cup she had been holding fell; when her hand came away blood was smeared across it.

Amy had looked for the source of her coughing fits but could not think of any plausible ideas; the only thing she could say was to wait until her bruised ribs healed completely and hopefully it would go away.

Samantha felt a hand placed on her back and instinctively jerked away. Altair, she realized as she took in the man before her; the one person she had hoped would not find her. His eyes seemed devastatingly worried as he questioned if she had drank the wine.

Now, though, Altair cut to the right, towards the arcade from which the archers were firing. Samantha refused to follow behind him, and made for the wall immediately in front of her which would lead directly to the balcony. Using her momentum, she was able to take a few steps up the stone wall before latching onto the open shutters of a window. Using the sill of the window, Sam propelled herself upwards and gripped tightly onto a protrusion of stucco. One more jump and she would be at the base of the balcony.

As she jumped, the stucco crumbled beneath her fingers. Sam was barely able to grasp onto the ledge above her and all weight was being put on her right hand. Hurriedly, she grabbed onto the small pillars of the railing with her left hand and heaved herself up and over the edge.

Two men faced her; both were dark skinned and wearing matching maroon tunics laced with gold. Behind them stood the merchant, who appeared confident that his guards could handle her. The wicked curve of the edge of their scimitars glinted in the sunlight.

Samantha itched to turn and see how far Altair had gotten, but resisted the urge by keeping her eyes trained on her opponents. _**If I look back I have lost**_, she told herself calmly.

The one on the right swung first and she rolled to the side; his blade collided harmlessly against the railing that had been behind her. Samantha came out of her roll onto her feet, turning before the man could react, she plunged her sword into his side. Metal cut through flesh as if it were no more than hot butter.

Blood began to flow and droplets of it splattered on the ground behind her as she ripped her sword from the bodyguard. Abu'l, seeing her first victory, began to run in the opposite direction and through an archway. Time was running out, and she needed to reach the target before he escaped or alerted more guards.

The man in front of her attacked and she blocked with the flat of her blade; the blow sent reverberations through her arm and caused the metal to ring loudly. The sound of footsteps and the ripple of white cloth alerted her to Altair running past both her and the guard. Cursing, Samantha pushed at the blade of her attacker, causing him to step back a bit. She would need to time everything right, Sam knew, if she was to have any hope catching up with Altair.

The guard swung at her from the side and her blade went up to block once more. His attack had left him completely open and Samantha dealt him a hard kick to his stomach; with a grunt the man doubled over and she slashed at his neck. There was blood, but she did not wait to see if the blow had killed him.

Sam sprinted through the opening that both Abu'l and Altair had gone through, sheathing her sword as she went. The hallway it led to was long, and lined with open archways. Ahead she could see another doorway that, no doubt, they had gone through.

She needed this kill more than anything, it would be her glory and proof that she could best Altair. This spurned her and caused her to increase her speed until it felt as if she were no longer running, but putting one foot in front of the other to keep from toppling forwards.

Samantha passed through the opening and nearly continued running off the side of the building. Skidding to a stop she spotted two figures on the ground below, one chasing the other. If she did not start running now she would lose them. Taking a deep breath, she stared off down the aisle so that she was running laterally to them, albeit much higher off the ground.

After a good half a minute she was gaining on Altair, but he was catching up to the target. Sam knew she would have to jump soon and pray that she was able to land on the fat merchant. _**Just a bit more, a bit more and I'll have him. **_Samantha's feet left the edge of the building before her head had caught up to what her body was doing. For half a second her heart leapt into her throat and she feared that she would hit solid ground. Her distress quickly dissipated as her body smashed fully onto Abu'l's.

Slightly stunned, Samantha rolled off of the merchant and attempted to gain her bearings. The earth felt as if it was moving beneath her feet and it was apparent she was not getting enough oxygen. Her hidden blade seemed to move as if on its own, plunging into her prey's neck and ending his life.

Sam fell back onto her butt and gasped for air; she had never run that fast in her life and she prayed she would never have to again. The sound of footsteps approached just as she was beginning to catch her breath. Whatever adrenaline that had been pumping into her had ceased, leaving her with a feeling of utter exhaustion. A relieved laugh passed her lips as she realized that she had beaten Altair. Revenge was impossibly sweet, and she knew there would be more to come.


	22. Chapter 22

Wow guys, sorry for the late update! Summer has been busier than I had anticipated and I really wanted to get this chapter right. I'm still not quite sure about it, but you deserve a new chapter. Also, forgive me if you see any mistakes. I'm trying to post this as soon as I can.

I'm really sorry about the confusion last chapter with Samantha dying in her dream. I swear I meant for it to be relatively clear. It briefly mentions when she is in the courtyard that it had been a very vivid dream. I suppose that was my fault, I should have better clarified.

Ahem, anyways.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me through the highs and lows of this story! All of your reviews are wonderful! I enjoy reading them so much and they really help motivate me. I would honestly address all of them separately here if I hadn't finished this at nearly two in the morning.

On to the chapter, I suppose. Please remember to review!

I love you all so so much,

Ballistic Babydoll

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><p>"When you really know somebody you can't hate them. Or maybe it's just that you can't really know them until you stop hating them."<p>

Orson Scott Card, _Speaker for the Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter Twenty-Two: It's always darkest before the dawn<p>

Altair was fuming the entire way back to the bureau. He did not look at Samantha or speak to her, knowing that if he did they would most likely kill each other. No, instead he immediately packed all of his belongings into his saddlebag and departed from Damascus.

He would need to speak with Al Mualim immediately before he lashed out. Surely his master would have a good reason for this; perhaps it was a test of his will and loyalty. If not then what else could it be? Was it a lesson in humility? Al Mualim had already accomplished that by demoting him to a novice.

Either way, the trip that should have taken three days he accomplished in two. Samantha would no doubt leave later than he had, and in less of a rush, putting her at least a day behind him. Both he and Fakhir were pushing their limits as they reached the outer gates of Masyaf. The ride had chipped away at Altair's patience little by little, and now he was practically shoving his reins into the stable boy's hands and running to the fortress.

Many of the assassins shot him dirty looks over their shoulders as he burst through the main doors and into the hall, causing them to slam back into the stonework behind them before closing once more. When Altair found the library empty he was so disgruntled that he barged straight into Al Mualim's solar without knocking.

The room itself was in the tallest tower of the fortress, unreachable but for the one spiral staircase that led up to it. Its rounded walls made the accommodations appear more spacious than any of the other assassins' quarters. The wooden door swung open into the room; to the right was a large mahogany desk, worn from the use of many generations of Mentor's. Across the room was a grandiose four poster bed with a feather mattress; it seemed that Al Mualim enjoyed his fineries just as much as some of the Templars that they hunted.

The older man appeared unperturbed by his sudden arrival and turned calmly away from the small window he had been gazing out of, "Altair, how good to see you again, how fared your mission?"

Altair felt as if his master knew exactly how it had gone, but wanted to hear his humiliating encounter come from his own mouth. "Samantha killed Abu'l," he growled while his hands clenched into fists, "Why did you send her?"

Al Mualim turned his gaze away from him again, "Samantha may have been promoted to the rank of assassin, but she still lacks experience. With you going on the same missions she can be kept safe and your own rank can be restored in a timelier manner. I would have thought you would appreciate the aid, Altair."

"I do not need her aid," he spoke lowly, "nor am I a bodyguard."

"You will do as you are commanded, Altair, and I will hear no more arguments."

The younger assassin bowed his head. "Of course," he mumbled nearly incoherently.

Al Mualim turned on his heel and sat at his desk facing Altair, "Your next mission is in Jerusalem; a man by the name of Majd Addin."

Altair's stomach sank like a stone; he would not only have to face Samantha, but Malik and Amy now too. The three people who most likely hated him most in this world would all be there. He had thought on the Solomon's Temple incident for many hours the past few weeks, and was starting to realize how arrogant he had been as well as his selfishness in leaving them to die. He did not blame them for hating him; in fact, if the same had happened to him he would have already killed the man who had betrayed him.

Such thoughts seemed inescapable. He dreamt of that day nearly every night; the more Altair thought about it, the more sympathetic he became. One day, perhaps, he would even be able to convince himself to apologize for his faults and for endangering their lives.

"Samantha will meet you there," Al Mualim's words cut through his thoughts, "I have sent a letter to Damascus informing her to ride for Jerusalem immediately."

Altair forced himself to bow his head respectfully before seeing himself out of the grand masters solar.

He left to his chambers even more distraught than when he had entered the fortress. Leaving immediately was not what he had originally had in mind, but the fact that Samantha would be leaving straight from Damascus would put her much farther ahead of him.

Altair packed a few extra robes and threw his dirty ones in the corner to be washed later. Resting in Masyaf overnight is what he had hoped for, but now he ignored the pain in his tired body and decided to push on. It was foolish of him to travel to Jerusalem in his state but with Samantha's advantage he could not afford to hesitate.

The evening air was warm as he stepped through the fortress doors. Altair could not ride Fakir; the poor beast had looked as if he would collapse at any given moment, so he tacked up a spare horse in preparation for his departure.

* * *

><p>Sam had taken her time traveling to Jerusalem, not feeling overly inclined to rush. Honestly, she would have rather stayed in Masyaf for a while to relax and train. A thought had also been scratching at the back of her mind, and she tried hard to ignore it. Going back to Masyaf so soon would have only further encouraged the thought.<p>

It was taking Samantha longer than usual to find Jerusalem's bureau, given that she had never been there before. The city itself held no great wonder or joy for her. She wanted nothing more than to finish her mission and leave; everything reminded her of Solomon's Temple, and that was something she could do without.

Sam knelt at the top of one of the tallest towers in the city, keen eyes searching for the painted assassin's symbol on the rooftops that could only be seen from such a height. In the distance she could barely make out the marking that she was searching for; a bit of running and she would make it there, hopefully with Amy greeting her.

A bird circled high overhead; whether it was an Eagle, a falcon, or some other species, she did not know. Samantha could look across the entire city from her perch; the people were no more than small blurs below her and that was comforting. She was completely alone up here; her thoughts were her own and her problems seemed miniscule. As soon as she was back on the streets, though, Sam knew that all of her worries and horrible thoughts of death and revenge would return full force.

She couldn't stay up there forever. Eventually she would have to return to reality and face Altair again. The thought of falling from the tower occurred to her for half a second; ending it all would be so simple, but she had already fought for so long to get to where she was now.

Her back hit a pile of hay in a cart before she had even processed jumping. From the streets she couldn't be seen and Samantha laid there for a moment breathing in the stale earthy smell. The hay was itchy on what parts of it could reach her skin, but it was warm and inviting.

Something moved near her hip and her mind immediately jumped to rats, but as she fought to look down she spotted a hand groping around in the hay. Feeling like an idiot, she jumped out of the pile. It was just her luck to land right on top of another assassin.

A hand reached out of the hay, searching for some sort of purchase with which to pull himself out. Samantha rushed forward to grasp the hand and began pulling. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, "I honestly didn't know you were in there." The hand was warm and heavy in hers, covered in rough skin and a few calluses.

With a bit of struggling the assassin broke free and jumped out of the cart. "You should have been more careful then," he growled.

Samantha recognized his voice and pulled her hand out of his as if she had been bitten. Sam couldn't stay there, if she did no doubt she would be tempted to pummel Altair to the ground. She took off running, pushing people out of her way if they were too slow to avoid her.

She moved quickly, her vision tunneling until the buildings and people were nothing but blurs. Sam knew the bureau when she saw it; its walls were tan and without adornment like the many other structures near it, but a small backdoor that was nearly invisible from the streets notified her that she had arrived.

She started climbing up the wall to reach the roof entrance. When she had reached the top Samantha stopped and looked over the area for any sign of Altair following her. When she saw no sign of a white hooded figure stalking through the crowds of people Sam breathed a soft sigh, thanking heaven for possibly giving her a moment of peace in the bureau. Honestly, she needed time to catch up with Malik and Amy without his interruptions.

A rush of wind whipped her blonde hair back as she jumped into the small opening on the roof, barely missing the small fountain as she hit the ground. A small smile overtook her face as she padded down the small hallway that would lead to the main room.

Sam fully expected to see Malik and Amy near the Dai's desk, but perhaps not in such a compromising position.

Amy sat upon the desk where pieces of parchment, books, and quills had been pushed hurriedly aside. Malik was there too, pressing his lips hungrily to hers as he stood between her legs. Their hands were entwined on the side that Samantha could see and she had to take a moment to recover from the initial shock. Luckily, they were both fully clothed.

Rolling her eyes and brushing off the fact that she had apparently walked in on a very intimate moment, Sam cleared her throat loudly and walked into the room.

Amy, seemingly unabashed, grinned as Malik backed away. She hopped down from the counter, striding towards her friend to embrace her. Samantha couldn't help but smile slightly at how flushed Malik had gotten and at how happy Amy was. It was good that they were there for each other.

"Hello Malik", Sam greeted after she had parted from Amy.

"Samantha", he inclined his head, "it's good to see you well."

She let out a half-hearted laugh, "As well as possible."

The room quieted significantly, each of them caught up in their own thoughts.

"I should-," Sam began to break the silence but footsteps on the roof reminded her that _**he**_ was still here. "Altair," she announced, "he must have arrived in the city closely behind me."

Malik's brow creased, "Altair has been here for a day and a night."

She could hear the assassin land in the entranceway and within a few seconds he appeared around the corner. The room held a heavy silence as all eyes fixed on Altair.

Sam felt a tug at her hand and found Amy ushering her towards the back hallway that would lead to her quarters.

"Let me show you your room, okay?" She suggested as her eyes darted back to each of the men before yanking Samantha's hand once more.

* * *

><p>Altair forced his gaze away from the retreating women and back to the Dai; he did not think he would ever get used to Samantha's renewed presence in his life. "I have found all of the information I need to complete my mission."<p>

Malik strode away from him, tapping his fingers against the tabletop as he moved behind the polished cypress. "That is for me to decide; tell me what it is you have learned, novice."

"I am not a novice," the assassin growled lowly.

"A man's skill is defined by his actions, not the markings on his robes," Malik replied off-handedly.

Altair released a frustrated sigh; arguing with the man that he once called friend became more ponderous by the minute. Each word began to cut deeper than before. "We can stand here until the rising of the sun or we can get on with completing Al Mualim's work, it is your decision."

The Dai turned away from him, leaning his lower back against the table before snapping at him to be out with it.

Altair ran a hand through his thick hair while simultaneously pushing his hood back. "Majd Addin is holding a public execution not far from here. It's sure to be well guarded, but nothing I cannot handle. I know what to do."

Malik's hand slapped the table with a loud 'thunk'. "This is why you remain a novice in my eyes," the Dai had turned to face him, "you must anticipate for something to go wrong. You may think you have control over all situations, but that is only further proof of your ignorance. Your foolishness will endanger your life and Samantha's'."

"Very well," he would choose to ignore the remark, "is that all?"

"Not quite, I must inform Samantha of what you have recovered so that she may assist you."

Altair had seen this coming, but that did not make swallowing his pride any easier. "Do what you must," he stated, trying desperately to control his temper.

Malik nodded and visibly relaxed his fist, unclenching as he took a breath. "Go then, prepare for tomorrow and try not to create any further conflict in my bureau."

The assassin obeyed without another word, noiselessly leaving to return to his room.

Malik groaned and rubbed his temples in attempt to dismiss the headache he felt creeping up on him. "Perhaps you are not completely lost to us Altair, there may be hope for you yet," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

><p>"How has everything been?"<p>

Amy laughed, "Why is it I feel I should be asking you that question?"

"Just answer the question, Amy," Sam teased as she pulled off her bracers and began fiddling with the clasps on her belt. She was happy to see her friend again, and to see that not much had changed despite her absence while being held captive by Robert.

"Things have been getting better, slowly, but surely."

"That's good to hear," Sam shot her a small smile as she put her belt on the small desk near her bedside, "and since you are so curious things have been going well for me too."

It hadn't been a lie, not completely at least. She was beginning to regain most of the skills she had lost rotting away in Acre. The problems lie elsewhere; her nightmares had become more severe ever since she had dreamt of her death in Damascus, and her cough had yet to subside. In fact, she was starting to wonder if there was something more serious behind it, but she would not trouble Amy with these thoughts.

"So you have a mission tomorrow?" Amy questioned as she wrung her hands nervously together. Unable to find solace in her fidgeting, she settled on busying herself with heating up water for a bath.

"Don't worry yourself over it, Amy. The last mission went fine and this one will too." Samantha pulled her robes over her head and put a hand on her hip. "It will go fine if Altair cooperates," she added silently to herself.

"I can't help but worry," Sam noticed Amy's fingers digging into the side of the porcelain tub as she spoke. "Ever since you were taken...I keep replaying it in my mind over and over and I'm afraid they'll take you away again."

The blonde placed a gentle hand on her friends trembling shoulder, "I know you've been trying hard to be strong, Amy, but I'm back. I won't get caught again; I promise."

"You can't promise me that, Sam, and you know it."

With a frown she pulled her friend into a tight hug, "I know I can't, but it's the best I've got right now." Sam released Amy so that she could look at her, "We're going to take this day by day, okay? We'll make it through this, we always have."

Amy turned her head away and took a deep, shaky breath. "I know, I'm sorry I worry so much."

Samantha offered her a reassuring smile, even though she couldn't see it. "I'm glad someone worries about me; you're the only one who does," she joked.

Amy stepped towards the door, rocking on her heels. "You can count on me to always worry then," she attempted a smile, "but don't let me hold you up. Take a bath and get some sleep, you'll need it for tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Altair stood before Malik awaiting his feather so that he could leave to complete his mission. The Dai had been explaining that one of those to be executed was a brother and needed to be saved. He was hardly listening.<p>

Next to him stood Samantha; she had been unusually quiet and hadn't addressed him or even acknowledged his presence since entering the room.

He just wanted the day to end so that he could return to Masyaf. He longed for his own bed and a decent meal. The days had begun to slur together due to his restless nights where nightmares constantly plagued him. The most recent ones had included the woman next to him.

"Are you listening, Altair, or just wasting my time?" Malik snapped.

The Dai's sharp tone broke his reverie and he blinked to refocus his gaze. "Yes, of course, are we done?"

Malik pushed two feathers over the table towards them and as Altair went to retrieve his he could see Samantha glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.

It would be a long day.

As Altair climbed up to the roof a light breeze wafted the scent of baked goods being sold from the marketplace. He had never been overly fond of the city, instead preferring the quiet solitude of his room or the clang of steel on steel in the bailey.

"Where are we going?"

He could tell she did not want to speak to him, but Malik must not have told her everything about their mission, and the job fell to him.

"The execution is set to take place near the western edge of Solomon's temple," Altair answered as briefly as possible as he turned his head slightly so that the blonde was in his view. Her jaw visibly clinched at the mention of the temple.

"Let's go then," she growled and pushed past him towards the edge of the building, "the sooner this is over, the better."

He watched for a moment as Samantha crossed the gap between the rooftops by means of a narrow archway. Her feet took her unerringly to safety on the other side and for a brief second he admired how well she had done under his tutelage.

The thought was immediately dismissed as he moved to follow her.

As they ran, the more experienced assassin noticed that they were fast approaching one of the city guardsmen on the rooftop, and he was positive there were more around. Samantha seemed to be oblivious to the fact that she was steps away from revealing their location. He could not watch idly while she botched their mission.

Altair sped up and wrapped his hand around her wrist, effectively stopping Sam just as she was about to step out from the cover of the nearest building. Yanking her behind him, Altair peered out from around the corner to see the guard making his rounds on the roof of a building a story higher than they were.

Samantha made a noise indicating her disdain at his actions and attempted to step around him. Altair shoved her back against the side of the building; one hand on her shoulder kept her in place, while the other grabbed a throwing knife from his belt. With a flick of his wrist the knife was imbedded in the guards' throat.

He released a deep breath and peered down at Sam; no emotions could be seen on her face due to the shadow of her hood. Her body was trembling, though, in what he assumed was rage.

"Try not to expose us," he scolded her and tightened his grip on the woman's shoulder for emphasis, "and most of all do not cause us to fail this mission."

Her head tilted up so that she could look him in the eye; malice and rage filled them. "You are the master of not getting people killed and successful missions. Forgive me, I must have forgotten," she spat and knocked his hand away from her shoulder.

Everything seemed utterly silent as she pushed past him and continued across the roof.

* * *

><p>The signs that they were nearing the area where the execution would take place increased as the two assassins abandoned the rooftops for the crowded streets.<p>

People ran through the tight alleyways, yelling and adding their voices to the din that was forming in the courtyard just out of sight. Saracen guards lined the edge of the throng as they approached, seeking out anyone who would cause any disruption or hinder the execution. They passed them, unnoticed, and quickly blended into the mass of bodies congregated into the small area.

Peering above the heads of the men in front of him, Altair spotted the three men and one woman who had been condemned to death. They were each tied to a post on a makeshift scaffold that rose a few feet above the ground. Three guards stood close to them, a hand placed on their swords as their eyes scanned the area suspiciously. It seemed to him that it was almost as if they expected to find assassins amongst the mob.

He felt someone nudge his arm and wrote it off as one of the many people pressing against him. The nudge came harder the second time and he glared at the person next to him, only to realize it was Samantha who had hit him.

"That man there is the assassin Malik wants us to save," Sam pointed at the man on the very left once she was satisfied that she had his attention.

Altair stood on his toes to accommodate for the taller men that stood in his line of sight, following the direction Samantha had been pointing until he could see one of his brothers who was indeed tied up to be killed.

He returned his attention to Sam, deciding what the best course of action would be in order to insure the success of their mission. The people around him began to whistle and cheer, bringing his gaze back to the dais. A man had appeared there, no doubt in charge of the execution.

He was tan of skin and a thick, wiry black beard covered most of his face. The white turban wrapped around his head was unremarkable, but his clothing was made of a rich, blue cloth which was embroidered with gold silk to form intricate spirals and loops. The style also seemed to mark those of his personal guard, as they had similar patterns on their own tunics.

Majd Addin strode across the stage, calling for silence as he went.

"People of Jerusalem, hear me! I have a warning, for there are malcontents among you who wish to sow the seeds of discontent."

Altair listened intently, wondering if the man was referring to assassins, and if he knew that they were there. It would no doubt explain why there were so many guards and why they appeared so suspicious.

"This evil must be purged!" Majd continued his tirade, further stirring up the crowd who seemed on the brink of an outburst.

The assassin watched as two men began to protest cursing both Majd Addin and the crowd of citizens supporting him.

"This is not justice!" One man proclaimed as he unsheathed his sword and began to charge at the guards that stood in between him and the stage.

Another man followed close behind him until he noticed the first man now had multiple arrows protruding from his prone body. He changed directions and desperately attempted to flee, but was inevitably cut down by another guard a few feet away.

"See how the evil of one man spreads to corrupt others?" Majd gestured at the two bodies, bleeding out while those in the crowd cheered, shouted, or screamed in horror.

"They sought to instill fear and doubt within you! But I will keep you safe! Here now, are four, filled with sin. The harlot, the thief, the gambler, and the heretic!" Altair watched as he gestured to each of those tied up before the mob, the last being another assassin. "Let God's judgment be brought down upon them all!"

He knew the killing would begin then, as Majd Addin began to shout and call the one condemned woman a whore and a temptress, but he needed to be patient. The sooner Malik's men arrived, the sooner he could kill the target. With more numbers the task was guaranteed to be much simpler.

If the woman died before that time came then so be it.

His arms were folded across his chest while his eyes swept over the area, searching for any sign of the other assassins. A sound reached his ears and he recognized it as a blade being unsheathed; a small amount of weight lifted from his back and he turned his head to see Samantha slipping his short sword from its sheath.

Altair caught her wrist as she moved to charge through the mass of people towards the target. Sam whipped around and twisted out of his grasp before he could react, sending a glare behind her as she made a beeline in the direction of the scaffold. He drew his other sword while cursing her stupidity. It was likely that she would be shot down before making it anywhere near the target.

An arrow narrowly missed Samantha's shoulder, killing an unlucky bystander who happened to be in front of her. Altair followed her lead, seeing no other option but to charge forward now that they had been exposed. Sam had now climbed onto the dais and he was hot on her heels. A guard's sword came singing through the air towards him and he deftly deflected it harmlessly towards the ground. A quick glance was all he needed to see that Samantha was in a similar situation with one of Majd Addin's men.

Altair attacked the man before him relentlessly, grunting at the effort he put behind each blow. Steel clanged against steel as the man matched him blow for blow, defending his body from the deadly edge of the assassin's blade. A stinging pain registered in his mind as the guard's sword sliced into the unarmored portion of his bicep. A splash of crimson blossomed through the white of his tunic; he struck his opponent down with the rage that filled him at the sight of his own blood.

He could see Samantha working at cutting through the ropes that bound the captives to their allotted posts. A guard approached on her right, sword drawn and ready to fight. At the last moment she freed the assassin they had been sent to rescue and tossed him Altair's short sword while she drew her own long sword.

He shifted his focus to finding Majd Addin amongst the chaos. Altair spotted him near the edge of the pandemoniac street, attempting to flee the area. He would ensure that his prey did not make it far.

* * *

><p>Samantha sat in the shade of the bureau, attempting to fan herself while Amy tutted and worried over the small cut on her cheek.<p>

She had escaped to the bureau as quickly as she could with the other assassin she had saved once she had seen Altair run after their target. Sam didn't doubt that he had successfully killed Majd Addin; despite his slip up with Robert he was still the most lethal person she had ever met, arrogant and ridiculously reckless, but deadly all the same.

Sam grabbed the wet cloth that her friend had been using to dab at the shallow cut and wiped it across her forehead, savoring the wake of cool skin it left behind. Bells could still be heard, tolling from some distant mosque; she was grateful to be inside the safety of the bureau rather than on the streets.

"Samantha," Malik called from the end of the hallway, apparently finished with his task of leading the other assassin to his room.

She sat up from her position of leaning against the wall. "Need me to do something?" She asked, eager to rid herself of Amy's eyes that had been scrutinizing her appearance for the past five minutes, searching for any injuries.

"Go climb up and see if Altair approaches; be sure that he does not have enemies in tow."

Sam got to her feet and shot the Dai and odd look but otherwise did as she was asked. It did seem that Altair had been gone for an unusually long time, but it wasn't her business and nor did she care.

Standing on the roof was much hotter than being in the building and any semblance of cooling off had long since vanished. Nothing seemed to be amiss on the streets or on the other rooftops and Sam considered retreating back to the shade of the bureau.

Just as she was about to descend, a chorus of shouts caught her attention. In the distance she could see just barely make out a figure in white robes bolting down an alleyway, a Templar and two other guards following close behind. Samantha watched, interested in how he planned to escape from this situation. After a few moments it occurred to her that she should tell Malik that he was fast approaching.

"Malik!" Sam called as she landed in the foyer, "Altair is coming here and guards are chasing him!"

As she turned the corner she found Amy sitting on a few pillows that she had accumulated near Malik's desk. Her friend quickly bolted into action, springing up from her position on the floor and startling Samantha as she hurried past her towards the rooftop entrance.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Amy called, "We have to get this opening shut and locked!"

Sam followed and helped her friend seal off the entrance with a grate made from thick oak beams.

"We can't allow him in if he brings an enemy to our doorstep, right?," she inquired as Malik approached from the end of the foyer.

"Yes," the Dai replied coolly, "he will have to kill those that are chasing him or retreat until they lose track of him."

A thump was heard on the roof and it was only a moment before Altair's face appeared beyond the latticework. The assassin looked as if he had been drug behind a horse for many miles; scrapes covered his face and sweat beaded on his forehead only to spill down into his eyes.

"Malik!," he shouted, "Open up the grate, you bastard!"

From their vantage point they could easily see Altair, but apparently he could not see them.

He continued shouting for Malik for many minutes before he began to shout for Samantha, begging them to open the bureau to him. She had never heard him sound so desperate before.

The Dai was the first to step into view, closely followed by Sam while Amy retreated back into the main room.

"You know the rules Altair," he reminded him, "I cannot allow you to come in while our enemies are chasing you."

"Damn it, Malik, make an exception!"

"Why should he for traitorous scum like you?" Samantha piped up, "Has your arrogance finally caught up with you, Altair?"

The assassin growled her name in warning, "I swear if you do not let me in..."

"Your threats are worthless, Altair," she spat, "if you die up there it is more than you deserve!"

Sam watched as Malik retreated back through the open doorway, leaving her standing there below the grate.

"Malik! Come back, you son of a whore, and tell her to open this gate!"

She could hear his voice becoming increasingly hoarse by the minute, and something inside her was savoring every moment.

A flash of light and a loud whack startled her as a sword crashed into the lattice where Altair had been seconds ago.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me die?"

Sam didn't know if the question had been intended for her or Malik. "How is that any different than you, Altair?" She called, "What makes you so much better than us to cause you think you should be saved?"

She could hear the distinct sound of swords clashing on the rooftop, but no one was in sight. After a few moments there was a grunt of pain and a sword that was unmistakably Altair's skittered into sight, blood covering the hilt. Sam wondered if the splash of crimson was his or the Templar's'.

"Do you honestly hate me so much?"

Sam could see fingers desperately grasping for the hilt of the sword that lay just out of reach. Before they could move closer and grasp onto the metal a sound of gurgling reached her ears, the sound of someone choking on their own blood. A silence then dragged on and she wondered who had been killed.

"You're pathetic," Malik's voice sounded from above her.

Samantha stood on the tips of her toes, moving until the dark haired Dai came into view, clutching a bloody sword and standing above the slain Templar. She stood there in shocked silence, unable to believe that Malik had just saved Altair's life. After all the pain and suffering he had caused them.

* * *

><p>Rage filled her as she waited for Malik and Amy to tend to Altair. Such anger Sam had never experienced before; her hands shook violently as she attempted to calm down. Her heart began to beat erratically.<p>

Samantha's feet found their way to the center of the main room; she stared unblinkingly down the dim hallway that led to the quarters, as if daring anyone to come out and confront her.

Malik did appear, though, and her eyes followed his movement as he approached her. His hands were haematic, she imagined it was a mix of both Altair's and the Templar's blood. The Dai's face was a wild array of many emotions that she could not read in her state of mind. Anger, anxiety, and exhaustion were but a few that she could pinpoint.

Samantha's jaw clenched and she ground her teeth together painfully, forcing herself to stare down at the sandy carpet below her feet in a vain attempt to calm herself.

"Why?" Her mouth felt dry and it was the only word that came to mind.

"You know why, Samantha." Malik moved to grab a dirty rag to wipe the blood from his hands, "No matter what he has done in the past Altair is still in the brotherhood."

"He would not have done the same for us!" Her eyes flashed as she slammed her fists down on the wooden desk, rattling a few inkwells in the process. "You saw as much at Solomon's Temple!"

"He is not the same as he was, please, listen to me. I have seen Altair slowly begin to change into the man I once knew." Malik spoke softly, trying to coax her into calming down, but it did little to help.

"He left us to die Malik! You, me, Amy, and Kadar- "

"Do not bring my brother into this!"

His shout caused her to flinch, but Sam returned back to her original fervor. "Is it not relevant? I would like nothing more than to have seen Altair knocked off of his high horse and brought so low that not even Al Mualim could help him regain his station."

"He was brought down to the rank of novice and will not be a master assassin again until nine lives are repaid in place of his own. What more do you want, Samantha? To see him slain? Is that what would truly make you happy?"

"Yes! He is a monster!" It was all she could do now to hold back angry tears; her chest was heaving and she could feel her entire body trembling.

Malik took a deep breath, "And how are you any different? By thinking such things you are no better than he was."

Sam bit her lip and stared down at her feet. He was right, she knew, and perhaps Altair had somewhat changed.

She heard footsteps and then a warm hand was placed on her shoulder.

"You must let this go. Hate is a dangerous thing, and holding onto it will kill you."

"I can't," she breathed.

A moment later and the hand was gone.

Samantha looked up to watch as Malik retreated back to the hallway. He turned his head slightly towards her when he had reached the door to Altair's quarters, "Then I will pray for you."

* * *

><p>Malik saw Altair briefly acknowledge his presence with a nod as he entered through the door.<p>

"I asked that you rest now that you've been bandaged up, Altair."

"The wounds are not so bad now that they have stopped bleeding," he lowered his eyes slightly, "and I cannot sleep."

"I presume you heard everything," he moved to sit on a stool placed across from the small bed.

Altair released a small, humorless chuckle. "It was not easy to ignore."

A few moments of silence passed, heavy with unsaid words.

"I continue to make the same mistakes," the injured assassin was the first to break the pause in conversation.

"There was no possible way you could have known that Majd Addin would have Templars-"

"I do not mean with the mission, Malik."

"Samantha may still come to see the man that you are now, given time-"

"There is no time!" Altair's voice rose for a moment before he realized he had shouted, "We assassins are not known for living long lives, and...," he ran a hand through his dark hair, searching for what to say, "I should not have treated her so unkindly."

Altair could remember everything he had said to her, every glare, and every snide comment. Not even a day ago, he could not keep his tongue in check from scolding her when she had accidentally fallen into the same cart of hay he was occupying.

Nothing he could do now would ever make amends for leaving her in Solomon's temple and at the mercy of Robert and his torture.

"She was going to let me die on the roof while standing by and watching, Malik. What am I to make of that?"

"You did not die, and that is what matters."

"Why did you save me? She was right, Malik, I am no better than you or her. I did not deserve to be saved after all I have done."

"If you believe that then perhaps you have learned your lesson. I saved you in hope that one day we might be friends again and fight side by side as we once did.

Malik rose from his seat, sending Altair a look of remorse despite his previous words. "I did it for her, also, she cannot continue on like this. You saw firsthand how far hatred led you. Apologize, Altair, I beg that you show her that you have changed."

* * *

><p>"Where are you going?" Malik questioned, concerned by how quickly Samantha had packed to leave the next morning.<p>

She pushed past him towards the exit of the bureau.

"You should wait for Altair's wounds to heal before you leave," he advised, trying to think of something to make her stay a bit longer. Apparently that was not the correct thing to say.

"Altair can make it back to Masyaf on his own." Sam's voice was calm, and oddly resigned. however, it sounded as if her composed façade could break at any moment. "I've already been here for far too long, Malik. I need to go."

Samantha turned away, running up the wall and out of the bureau before he could protest further. She had left in a flutter of white robes; the sound was no louder than the whisper of a breeze.

The silence that was left in the bureau was that of a tomb. Somehow her sudden departure had left a sour taste in his mouth, as if she had said goodbye rather than farewell.

He would tell Altair that he needed to ride for Masyaf as soon as he was able.


	23. Chapter 23

Hey guys! Guess who isn't dead! That would be me.  
>Sorry this chapter has taken so long to write I had no idea how I wanted it to go and I ended up having to split the result into two separate chapters, so there should be another coming up pretty soon (fingers crossed).<p>

Please read and review, I really need reviews to keep me going!

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Three: No light<p>

_And I am done with my graceless heart_

_So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart_

_'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn_

_It's always darkest before the dawn_

-Florence + The Machine

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><p>Malik rushed forward to stop Altaïr as he threw the thin sheet that had been covering his body off and moved to stand. "You cannot leave in your condition, the wounds are too fresh."<p>

"Damn my wounds, Malik, I will be fine. The assassin sent the Dai a cursory glance and moved to find robes that were free from blood. He gritted his teeth against the fiery sensation as the tender flesh around his injury pulled taut.

"There is always the possibility that I am wrong. There is no guarantee that she is leaving and no conceivable way that she could return to her time." Malik struggled to think of some way to hinder Altaïr's departure as he worked his tunic over his head and gingerly pulled it down over his body.

"If there is some way, though, and I do not go I will regret it for the rest of my life." Altaïr stopped for a moment and looked at his friend, yes, Malik _was_ his friend again. There was no denying it; he had saved his life even if he hadn't deserved it. He hoped, in his moment of sincerity, that Malik would understand.

The Dai turned away, rubbing the dark stubble on his cheek as he thought. "Very well, but you cannot leave alone. I will send Ahmar with you to prevent you from reopening your wounds."

Altaïr accepted his condition without complaint, it was his own fault that he was so injured in the first place. Carefully, he worked his dark pants up his legs until they rested on his hips. He deftly laced up the front with the leather cords that held them closed.

"I will go and ensure that a horse is prepared for your journey."

"Malik," Altaïr stopped him halfway through the door, "thank you, truly."

The Dai sent him the slightest of smiles, the first he had seen him give for many months.

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><p>Altaïr would never have admitted it, but the journey back to Masyaf was grueling. His wound pained him every time his horse jerked suddenly from stepping over the uneven ground and Ahmar apparently felt the need to share his entire life story while they traveled. The boy couldn't have seen more than fifteen summers and he wondered how useful this novice would actually be should a fight arise.<p>

He had to be patient, though, just as he would have to be patient with Samantha. There was no doubt that she hated him; he had been moments away from dying and she had done nothing but stand idly and mock his situation.

Altaïr had resented her presence for so long, ever since she had convinced him to shelter her in the bureau. Now, though, he could not imagine what his life would be like without her there. She was no doubt strong and efficient as an assassin, but it was more than just her capacity for killing that drew him to her despite how hard he had been trying to fight it. She was good company, had been, before he had taken a darker turn. He remembered how beautiful she had looked the night the trade caravans had arrived. He should have realized sooner that Samantha had a good heart and deserved more than him constantly trampling over it.

If he had one regret in all his life it would have been his stupid pride when waltzing into Solomon's Temple as if he and his companions were immortal. He realized that he had been stupid and childish. Now he would have to atone for it and hope that somehow he and Samantha would remain amiable afterwards.

Altaïr was beginning to run a fever a day before he and Ahmar had made it to Masyaf. He should have realized sooner, but had blamed the heat of the day on his increased body temperature and dizziness. The younger assassin was in a panic about rushing him to see Anass when he told him about it, and Altaïr was in no condition to argue. Better that he get well now than suffer a serious infection because of his stubbornness, he reasoned. They sped up their pace and rode through the night in order to reach the city by dawn.

The fever was like a fog clouding his mind as Ahmar led him through the city and up to the fortress. He barely registered the sweat beading on his forehead and running slowly down his face. Altaïr seemed to lose recognition of his surroundings from the large gates barring the main entrance into the courtyard to Anass' chambers. The wall sconces burned like bright suns in his vision as the young assassin led him through dim, empty hallways. Luckily the healer slept near to the infirmary, and once Ahmar had woken Anass up they immediately moved him to an empty room for his wounds to be tended.

He was mildly aware of the two men persuading him to sit and coaxing his shirt from his body so that Anass could have access to his wound. As all of this was occurring Altaïr continued to speak nonstop, saying things that would never have left his lips if he weren't nearly delirious. He spoke nearly incoherently about Malik, Kadar, and Solomon's Temple, things that had been haunting his sleep for months. Then he started speaking about her.

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><p>Ahmar left the room nearly two hours later, his hands smelling of some thick ointment he had helped Anass spread over Altaïr's wound. He had not expected to be in the presence of such legend among the ranks of novices; Altaïr was famed as the best assassin that the order had ever trained. Now, though, he realized that even the best had demons that plagued them.<p>

It was startling to see such a deadly man rattling off all of his faults and regrets, especially those involving a woman. As far as he knew Altaïr was never seen around many women, but the way he had spoken about her was full of unspoken sorrow and longing, something he would have never expected. Perhaps it was simply the fever, though, and there was nothing behind his words.

The sun was barely beginning to rise, its rays just shy of creeping over the mountainous peaks in the distance. The hallways remained fairly well lit by the burning torches, but they cast dark, ominous shadows in the corners. Ahmar quickly reminded himself that he was in a fortress full of assassins and there were no goblins out to eat him as his parents had told him to make him behave when he was younger.

As he passed a particularly dark corner a hand shot out and roughly grabbed his forearm. He let out an undignified squeak of surprise and quickly went to cover his mouth, his cheeks burning and the heat spreading to the tips of his ears. Ahmar spotted the white robes as the person stepped further into the light. _I'm an idiot_, he internally scolded, _squealing like a little girl in front of another assassin_.

Of all of the things he would have expected it was not the blonde haired woman who stepped out towards him. His eyes glanced back down at her robes, yes, they were definitely those of their order.

"Who are you?" She demanded, hand still tightly clutching his arm.

"Ahmar, ma'am," He managed to stutter out. _Did I just call her ma'am?_ He nearly groaned, but she had that exact same look on her face as his mother used to when he was about to be scolded.

"What were you doing?" The woman asked, her eyes glancing down the hallway that he had just come from. She slowly released his arm after he hesitated in answering, bidding him with a small gesture of her hand to speak.

"Doing? You mean with Altaïr?" He followed her gaze down the hallway, "He was injured in Jerusalem and his wound was infected." Ahmar looked back at the woman, her expression was a mix of anger, curiosity, and, dare he say, concern.

"That's why he returned to Masyaf so quickly?"

It took him a moment until he realized that he had been asked a question. "N-No, I don't think so, originally he seemed intent to get here for other reasons and-" a realization dawned on him and he took a step back, "You're her."

"I'm who?" She seemed perplexed and he nearly grinned.

"The one he was talking about!" It seemed almost too ironic that she would approach him right after he had left Altaïr.

"You can start making sense any time now," she huffed.

The sound of ringing bells interrupted them and he quickly moved to take his leave. "I must go to train," he lied and nearly bolted down the hallway, leaving Samantha standing there with her mouth gaping and utterly confused.

* * *

><p>Samantha didn't know why her feet took her down the hall towards Altaïr, but Malik's words were ringing in her head. She was becoming a monster just as he had.<p>

The room was empty other than herself and the sleeping figure that lay abed. Everything was oddly silent, as if someone had cupped their hands over her ears. Sam took long, steady strides towards the bed, stopping when she reached the edge. It was as if she stood on the precipice of a towering cliff where one more step could change everything and send her tumbling over.

She took one step, and then another, around the side and towards Altaïr. His tan skin had turned a sickly pallor and he had sweat pouring from his face. His wound had been dressed with fresh linens and white sheets covered him from his waist down. Sam had never seen him look so vulnerable, and not even a few days ago that alone would have made her smile maliciously.

She had rejoiced when Altaïr lay beaten and bloody on the roof. The mere thought of it now disgusted her. That wasn't the person she wanted to be, one who hated and held grudges.

Samantha wanted to be as she was before Solomon's temple, before Altaïr had changed. She wanted to joke and banter witty comments during training. Even working together to complete a mission seemed more agreeable than fighting to see who would come out on top.

She was just so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hating, tired of waking up from nightmares in a cold sweat.

Her hands moved automatically as she reached for a clean cloth and dipped it in the cool water of the basin in the corner of the room. With a gentleness she had not shown for many months Samantha wiped the sweat from Altaïr's brow, smoothing the pained wrinkles that formed there. His body shuddered for a moment and her breath caught in her chest. The last thing she needed was for him to wake up and see her caring for him. Altaïr had chills, though, and despite his shivering remained unconscious.

She forced herself to even her breathing and dabbed the cool cloth down his face, his neck, and the hollows of his collarbone.

They had both been stupid and reckless even at the best of times. Malik had said Altaïr had changed for the better, and it seemed no one knew him better than the Dai.

Sam returned the cloth to the edge of the basin and forced herself to turn around once more and face Altaïr's prone form. Despite his current affliction he now seemed at peace, an expression that seemed foreign on his usually scowling face. She didn't think she had seen him happy since the trade caravan had come to Masyaf.

Samantha shook herself from her thoughts. It didn't matter now if Altaïr had changed or not or if she would ever choose to forgive him. If he woke and continued to try and rebuff her every attempt at being successful she knew she would not be able to stay. No, it would probably be better if she left. Amy could be happy with Malik and Altaïr could return to his former status.

Hot tears threatened to spill and she rubbed at her eyes in attempt to dismiss them. Ahmar had said something about Altaïr talking about her; she was sure it had been all disparaging remarks and Sam wondered if he ever had anything nice to say about her.

Everything she had done here had been a waste of time. The blood, sweat, and tears had been for nothing. She had gotten her wish of becoming an assassin, but not in the way she had wanted or imagined. It was stupid and petty, but despite everything Samantha still wanted the man in front of her to want her the way she wanted him. She had glimpsed at what lay beneath his cold exterior and ever since Malik had spoken to her Sam had been able to think of little else.

Samantha had somehow ended up close to the bedside once again. Her hand hovered inches above his and she longed to close that space.

She couldn't do it. Sam snatched her hand back and made for the door, pushing past Anass who had been standing in the doorway for God knows how long.

* * *

><p>Altaïr woke slowly, feeling the tight bindings around his torso and the thin sheets covering the rest of his body. His limbs felt heavy and it was an effort to open his eyes. He forced himself into a sitting position, blinking to rid himself of both grogginess as well as his blurred vision.<p>

He could remember very little of what had happened. The memories of returning to Masyaf came to mind, as well as an immense amount of pain.

Altaïr's stomach gave a loud growl and he wondered how long he had been unconscious and unable to eat. The room he lay in had no windows, but the candles that cast flickering shadows across the walls burned low so he assumed it was late at night. The thought of getting to his feet to find some food seemed easy enough, but it was difficult to even keep balanced after he had swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to stand.

He was never one to be slowed down by injuries, though, and gritted his teeth through the weakness and pain. Altaïr made it to the end of the bed and grabbed the loose tunic that had been draped across the bedpost. It was even more of a struggle to get the garment over his head and his arms into the sleeves, but he managed and then successfully shuffled forward to the door. His end goal was the feasting hall, but he began to doubt if he would make it that far.

Beads of sweat had begun to roll down his neck by the time he neared the end of the hall from the increased effort it took for him to remain upright. Altaïr seriously doubted that a bit of food was worth all the time and effort it would take for him to reach his destination, surely he could wait for morning.

Just as he was considering turning back his eyes caught a hint of movement, the flickering of light nearing the corner that would lead to the darker bit of hallway that he stood in. _Anass, _Altaïr concluded, _he must be checking up on how I am faring._

The assassin slunk into the darker shadows of the corridor, hiding in a small alcove between two pillars that jutted out of the wall, just to be sure. Altaïr found that it was an effort now just to control his breathing, but he did so as best he could and focused on listening.

He could now hear the softest of footsteps nearing the hall. The candlelight grew brighter as the figure drew closer, but then it seemed to suddenly halt its progression. Altaïr could not help but to hold his breath.

"Who's there?"

Altaïr's heart hammered; he recognized that voice, and it was not Anass'. If she found him now, and in this condition, there was no telling what she would do. Last time she had seemed perfectly content to see him die and he wondered if that had changed due to the conversation she had had with Malik. There was only one way to find out though, and it had been his idea in the first place to travel with haste back to Masyaf to speak to her.

He stepped out from the shadows slowly.

"Altaïr?" She sounded utterly surprised that it was he who had emerged.

"In the flesh," he grumbled, his voice rough from disuse.

"What are you doing out of your room? Anass said you would not be well enough to leave for a few weeks."

"Is that concern I hear?" As the words left his mouth he realized how harsh they must have sounded. Altaïr winced as his wound gave a painful twinge, "Perhaps we can continue this conversation some place where I can sit back down?" _That would be better, someplace where I can think properly before I say anything else that will cause her to leave._

Samantha seemed taken aback for a moment before she finally moved to help him back to his room. She moved closer and he could now see that both of her hands were full, one with a brass chamber stick holding a candle that seemed well used, the other holding a small platter of food. He had to wonder if the food had been meant for him.

Altaïr would not mention that yet, though, and offered quickly to hold the chamber stick so that she could help him walk. He felt foolish leaning on her as if he were well into his later years, but in all honesty it did help to relieve some of the sharp pain that had been stabbing in his side.

The two made it back to his room much faster than he had gotten out of it. He released Samantha's arm from his grip and hobbled over to sit on his bed.

"Here," she said as she thrust the plate of food into his hands, looking anywhere else except for at him.

Altaïr gratefully took some of the bread that was there and ripped it in half, "I thought you said Anass did not expect me to wake for some time." He popped some of the bread into his mouth and began to chew slowly, savoring how soft it was and thinking that it had to have been fairly fresh from the oven.

"I brought the food just in case you were awake, if not I would have eaten it myself." Samantha had reluctantly plopped herself into the wooden chair in the corner of the room.

He noticed that she had left her assassins garb behind in favor of a royal blue tunic that laced up the sides along with a pair of black breeches. Her blonde hair that reflected gold from the candlelight had been pulled back and tied into a low ponytail with a dark piece of ribbon. She looked much healthier than she had in weeks despite her frown and hint of circles beneath her eyes.

Samantha would still not look at him, as he chewed the salted meat that had been on his plate he followed her gaze to his bedside table. There sat a small white vase, unadorned, but holding fresh flowers, nearly the same shade as her tunic. He did not think himself a stupid man, and it was not hard to realize that she had been waiting for him to wake up for quite some time.

There was the worn down candle in the chamber stick, the thought of bringing food and saying she would eat it if he had not awoken, as if she had done it before, and the fresh flowers that she no doubt had replaced often. It all seemed to fit together except for why she had done these things. Malik had made it sound as if she were planning to leave and never come back. He could think only that this was either her way of saying goodbye or his one last chance to redeem himself before she made the decision to leave.

Silence hung in the air and he decided it was best not to begin the conversation with his findings.

"You seemed as if you were expecting someone else in the hallway."

He watched her expression grow stony and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I have seen Abbas creeping around corridors late at night," she seemed reluctant to continue speaking but quickly added so low that he scarcely heard her, "I can't help but think he is waiting to catch me unawares to try and kill me again."

"You are afraid."

This time she did meet his gaze, "Should I not be? Last time he would have succeeded if..."

He realized she would not continue her sentence but easily finished it on his own. _If I had not intervened._

It was a bit of a shock to remember that he had saved her life only to leave her to die in Solomon's Temple. Things had changed so much, their feelings had changed that day despite how hard he had tried bury it beneath surliness and insults.

"Why have you come here so late then? If what you say is true and Abbas desires blood." He did not wish to see more harm come to her when he could only lay here and do nothing.

"Am I not capable of holding my own?" Samantha sounded offended despite how afraid she had seemed about him catching her.

"With how you carelessly rushed onto that platform with archers all around you on our last mission I would have to say no, and you left before the target was even killed."

It was a moment before Altaïr realized that he had just done what he had been trying to prevent this entire time. His words had preceded his thoughts and he had just criticized and insulted her. He could have just ruined what was probably his last chance for redemption.

"That was not how I meant-"

"No."

Altaïr was startled to find that she seemed overly calm.

"You're right, Altaïr." These were words that he never thought he would hear, but now he was not so sure that they were a good thing. Samantha stood, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. "I was never cut out to be an Assassin. I'm sorry to have wasted so much of your time trying to train me when it should have been so obvious that I would never succeed."

He wanted to stop her there, wanted to tell her that she was wrong and had exceeded all of his expectations. However his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth, his forgotten plate of food resting on his lap.

"I will not burden you with my presence any longer since that is your wish." She began to move towards the door and hadn't looked up at him once.

"Sam, wait!" Altaïr tried to move from his sitting position and the platter of food clattered to the ground unnoticed. Pain lanced up his side and he was forced to sit again. When he looked up he found that his eyes met hers and that she was wearing a small smile that held more sadness than words could express.

"Goodbye, Altaïr."

He now understood what Malik had meant when he said it sounded like she was saying goodbye forever, and it left a pit in his stomach.

Altaïr wondered for a moment why she had left him with that small smile before he remembered that it had been the first time he had called her Sam rather than Samantha.

He rose from his bed, gritting his teeth and ignoring his wound as it protested at the movement. He would find Samantha if it killed him to get there and make up for all of the things he had said and done that had led them to here. Apologizing may not be enough, but it was better than laying there and watching as she walked out of his life.


	24. Chapter 24

Sorry about the lack of updates. To put it simply college is kicking my ass. Luckily I'll graduate December 2016 so I'm pretty excited about that. If any of you are worried that I will just put down the story and never start writing again trust me it won't happen. I know my updates are slow but I am super dedicated to this story. I split this chapter into two parts because part one seemed too short to be a standalone chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it and as always please review for me and let me know what you think.

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><p>Quick Update: I rewrote the first and second chapters of this story and I'll continue with the others to make sure everything is consistent. Thanks for your support everyone!<p>

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><p>Chapter 24: Heartlines<p>

Part 1

Altaïr moved as quickly as he could back down the hallway. At his slow pace he was sure Samantha would already be far ahead of him. He would make for her room and hopefully find her there.

His side burned and he grunted in pain, but did not slow.

He needed to apologize properly, to show her how he had been feeling for so long. He needed to make her stay.

These thoughts were what kept him moving, one foot in front of the other. Altaïr made it to the stairs that led to the assassin's quarters. With his eyes focused at the top he determinedly began his ascent.

He needed to make her understand his realization that he needed her in his life, but how? Every time he began to speak his words would come out wrong and he would hurt her further.

One hand tightly gripped the polished wood railing alongside the stairs and the other clutched at his injured side. He would find a way. He _had _to.

By the time Altaïr had made it to the top of the stairs he was panting from the exertion and was feeling slightly lightheaded. However, he heard footsteps not far from him a second before he saw the dark shadow beyond the torchlight that illuminated the hallway.

"Samantha! Please, wait!"

The figure didn't move.

"Altaïr, go back to the infirmary." Her voice was choked and the small, broken sound of it was enough to chip even further into his cold heart.

"No," he moved forward, fueled by his burning desire to keep her near. Altaïr took a few steps and grasped her wrist in his hand, spinning her to face him.

There was little doubt she had been crying, and instantly he sought to right all of the wrongs he had made.

"Please, Sam, you must listen to me."

"Why?" Her eyes were lowered, refusing to meet his. "Are there more insults you wish to throw at me?"

He had done it. He had taken the strong woman that she was when they first met and broken her down with his words and actions until there was barely anything left.

His hand did not leave her wrist, "I wish to tell you that I am sorry."

She flinched away from him and immediately he loosened his grip on her hand slightly. "What is it you want from me, Altaïr? Do you want me to forgive you after all you've done?"

He had done wrong by her so many times, and just this once, he wished to do something right. Altaïr took a deep breath, steeling himself so that he would not act rashly and lash out at her again. As he relaxed he could feel the warmth of her wrist beneath his palm, and could even hear the irregularity in her breathing.

"Samantha, would you please look at me?" He implored as softly as he could.

There was a moment's pause before her eyelashes fluttered and she looked up. With her shoulders slumped and her eyes bloodshot, she looked utterly worn out and defeated. Had he truly affected her so much? Sam had always been strong willed, always seeking to prove herself. The woman standing before him was but a shadow of her former self.

"I do not expect you to forgive me for all I have done in the past, for all the times you," he paused, sucking in a shaky breath of air, "were hurt and put into unnecessary danger because of my actions."

Altaïr rubbed the inside of her wrist gently with the callused pad of his thumb. "I allowed you to be taken captive by Robert, because of my own arrogance and stupidity."

He expected her to pull away from his touch, to yell at him and run. Perhaps that would have been better than the silence that cut as deeply as knives into him.

"I do not ask for your forgiveness, Samantha, but I do wish to express how sorry I am for all of my words and actions." Her eyes had returned to studying the ground, and he was about to release her hand when more words came pouring forth from him, "I know Malik has spoken to you and said I have changed. I cannot speak to that, but I only ask that you think on his words."

Sam was trembling now, wracked in sobs that she would not allow him to see or hear.

"Samantha," he breathed her name, scarcely loud enough for her to make out, "if you bear any semblance of good will or love towards me still I would have you stay here, in Masyaf, to see for yourself my change in character."

She did not respond, but instead ripped her hand from his and ran. Her footsteps echoed off of the flagstone and the walls until they eventually faded.

Altaïr did not know what to do, but at least he had said what he meant. He would go back to the recovery wing and wait until morning, to see if Sam had fled the city or if she had heeded his pleas and stayed within the fortress.

His side pained him now as he descended back down the long flight of steps at a much slower pace. Altaïr's hand shook as he grabbed the banister to help him.

An endless barrage of questions plagued him once he had finally made it back to his warm bed. He wished he had known then what he knew now. So much pain could have been avoided and he would assuredly have Samantha at his side, unwavering in her affection for him as she had once been. Now, though, he wondered if he would see her again. If she chose to leave he knew that she would go far out of his reach, and that distance would be even further if she found a way to travel back to the time that she had originally come from. He could not bear the thought.

Eventually a restless sleep found him, but he could not escape the night terrors that woke him nearly every other hour.

A pair of hands shook him awake at what he thought must have been early in the morning.

"Good afternoon, Altaïr, it seems you had quite a rough night, since you nearly reopened your stitches."

It took a moment for him to process what Anass had said. "Did you say afternoon?"

"I did, you slept nearly all morning, and by the looks of it you really needed the rest."

"No," he muttered to himself as he threw off his sheets, "no, I need to-"

Anass pushed him back onto his pillow with a firm hand on his shoulder, "Lay back, Altaïr, you need to rest if you ever hope to get better."

Altaïr would have argued and moved to get up again but the healer continued speaking.

"Besides, you have a visitor who has been patiently waiting for you all morning, despite my telling her that I would retrieve her when you awoke."

"Samantha?" He questioned, it was almost too much to hope.

Anass gave him a small smile, "Unless you have some other woman who has been hanging around day and night since you arrived here that I was unaware of."

He couldn't speak, she had stayed? After everything he had done she had stayed and waited all morning for him. She was far more loyal to him than he had ever been to her, but perhaps it was time that he changed that.

The healer seemed to read his expression, "I will send her in."

When Anass left and Samantha entered the room there was a subtle change in atmosphere. He had been on edge and worried, but now, upon seeing her, he realized that already things had begun to change.

She looked rested, and she no longer slumped as she walked, as if his words last night had taken a great weight off of her shoulders. In her hands she carried fresh flowers to replace the ones on his bedside table, a habit she seemed to have gotten into since he had come back to Masyaf with his injuries.

Altaïr did not speak as she lifted a small stool and placed it beside his bed, instead he chose to observe and allow her to speak first.

Samantha twisted her hands together as thoughts ran rampantly through her mind. His eyes slid over her, and he found that even overnight she looked much healthier. She must have rested well and eaten more than usual this morning for her face looked far less sallow than it had. The white around the chestnut color of her eyes was no longer bloodshot, telling of her night of rest that she seemed to have been in desperate need of.

Tresses of wavy blonde hair caught in the candlelight as she shook her head and woke him from his thoughts. Sam sighed deeply, chewing lightly on her bottom lip before speaking. "Altaïr," he breathed deeply at the sound of his name, as if his name coming from her lips was a blessing, "as cliché as this may sound, I wish to start over."

A sigh of relief left his mouth and his hands that had been clenching the sheets, in fear of what she might say, relaxed.

"I thought about what you said, and about what Malik said to me." Her hands continued to twist together, but she took a breath to quickly calm herself. "He was right when he told me that holding onto what you did to me would destroy me. The thought of revenge against you nearly consumed me, and in doing so I would have become no better than you." Samantha laughed, a quiet and nervous laugh, but it was comforting to hear all the same. "Malik is wiser than all of us, and we would do well to remember that."

"He is," Altaïr quietly agreed when she did not speak any more.

There was a long silence, but it was not uncomfortable. Both of them seemed to be thinking of what to say next.

"Altaïr," Samantha spoke first, "I would-" she swallowed, "I would like to forgive you. I can no longer hate you, but I cannot trust you either again without more time having passed."

That was enough, he could ask no more than for her to no longer bear hate in her heart towards him. He had now sat up in the bed, back resting against the pillows.

"I would also like to ask for your forgiveness. I had wished you dead, I had wished for complete revenge on you for what had happened to me, and for that I am sorry." She had moved her hand to the bed, halfway to where his were, almost as if waiting for him to close the distance, to meet her halfway.

"There is nothing to forgive, Samantha, were I in your place I would have wished the same." He moved his hand to rest on hers, giving it a slight squeeze so that she would look at him. "However, if you would settle for nothing less than forgiveness, then I will say that you are forgiven, and that we are now even, equals with each other."

A smile crossed her face, small as it was, but a smile no less. Altaïr did not wish to see it gone, as it had been absent far too long as of late. "While we are both in the apologizing mood perhaps we should also apologize to Malik, we have not been good friends to him."

Altaïr could not help but mirror her small smile, "Yes, and I would ask that we no longer fight against each other, but side by side with one another."

She quirked her head to the side, "You wish to be partners with me? On missions again?" Sam seemed amazed that he would choose to work with her again.

"If you would have me, and if I'm being honest you are no longer the apprentice you once were, I saw the ceremony where you were made a true assassin in title." He traced along the stub that her severed digit had left which mirrored his own. Altaïr regretted the fact that she could not have pledged herself willingly to the brotherhood, but that it was at the hands of Robert that her finger was cut.

"You were there?" Again her tone was incredulous, "You were there and you didn't try to stop it?"

"I did not have the rank or standing to, and now I am quite glad that I did not."

With a sigh Samantha lay her head upon the bed and closed her eyes, not moving her hand from his.

"Do you wish to rest? I would understand."

"No," she said almost immediately. Opening her eyes, she slowly rose to her feet and gave his hand a soft squeeze before letting go, "I am going to bring us both lunch, and then I wish to talk. If we are truly starting over I think we should know more about each other."

As soon as the words had come from her mouth, she had left the room, the only sign of her being there were the fresh flowers, the stool by his bed, and the warmth of her hand on his which was quickly beginning to fade.

* * *

><p>It was well past lunch when Samantha walked down the hall towards the main entrance way that would lead out to the kitchens. She had made friends with a few of the women there and rarely waited in line at the dining hall with the men to get food.<p>

The halls were abuzz with the daily chatter of the assassin's roaming through the fortress while on their way to perform whatever duty they had been assigned to. She was surprised to find that a few even nodded to her in acknowledgement as they walked past. Perhaps now with the weight of sadness and revenge off of her shoulders she was seeing the world more clearly.

The fortress was sweltering with the afternoon sun beating down on its stone walls, and it was even more so within the kitchens where large masonry ovens were ablaze with logs of wood. Some smoke filled the air as the wood crackled and popped, but most was vented out through a brick chimney. Women rushed about, some wiping excess flour from their hands and onto their aprons, others slowly turning a few goats over on a spit, but everyone was busy.

A girl closer to her age that she had begun to know very well took notice of Sam and approached her. "And here I thought you would never come for the food I set aside for you and your patient," the woman teased as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, successfully smearing it with flour. "You look much better than when you visited me this morning, much less apprehensive."

"Already gaining your mother's intuition, Lamia?" Sam teased with a smile, gesturing at her swollen belly.

Lamia put a gentle hand on her stomach, "Any week now I will be a mother, so I should hope so! Enough about me though, all will be well, my husband has even returned from his mission in time to see the baby born." The wide smile she gave spoke of her immense excitement.

"That's fantastic news," Samantha told her as she followed Lamia's beckoning for her to claim the food she had set aside. Her husband was an assassin, but it had not stopped them from falling in love and starting a family. She had even met him a few times and could attest to the fact that he was a good man.

"Here," Lamia handed her the round tray that held their food. "I will send for you after the child is born, Samantha." She informed as she opened the door for Sam to step outside. "I would be honored if you would come."

Sam couldn't help but to grin in response, "I wouldn't miss it."

Lamia gave her a small peck on the cheek before waving her goodbye.

The day had honestly gone better so far than she would have ever expected. When she had woken up that morning Samantha had still been doubtful about her decision the night before. However, Altaïr seemed to be keen on proving himself a better man, and she would give him time to do just that.

This day was brighter than the last, and she would not allow her previous fears to hinder her. She would not worry about whether or not Altaïr would revert back to his old ways, Sam could now only hope that Malik was right and to trust in his judgment.

With a lighter heart than she had had in a long time, Samantha strode through the halls with confidence and with her head held high, careful not to spill the mugs of wine as she went.

* * *

><p>Part 2<p>

Sam arrived back at the recovery wing and they ate their lunch in a rather amicable silence before speaking about a few of the trivial happenings within the citadel. Neither seemed quite comfortable yet with their rekindled friendship, but Sam was simply happy that Altaïr was even making an effort.

"You said before that we should learn more about each other," Altaïr mentioned while he adjusted the pillows that were propped up behind his back.

Samantha sighed softly; it was no lie that she had been avoiding mentioning it. They had talked for a bit and now she no longer wished to speak of things that weighed so heavily on her heart. For so long she had avoided thinking about the home she once had. She had no idea if her parents were worried about her or even if she had completely faded out of existence in that time. Sam had worked so hard in college and throughout her life that now she wondered if it was all a waste of time. She wondered if she even cared.

Sam stood up and busied herself cleaning up their plates from lunch and sought to avoid Altaïr's gaze.

"Where would you like to start?" she inquired.

There was no avoiding it any longer and she moved back to her seat next to the bed.

Altaïr seemed to think on this a while before answering. "The beginning. I want to know what your life was like before you came here."

Samantha sighed and twisted her hands together. "My life before all of this," she nearly chuckled, "it seems so long ago."

She wondered where she could even begin to explain everything from before.

"I was visiting a museum for my father before I came here. It's a place with relics and information about the past that people visit for fun or to learn." Sam realized that it was going to be much harder than she thought to explain modern concepts to Altaïr. When she looked up to meet his gaze to see how she was doing he simply nodded in appreciation of her explanation.

"Well, needless to say there was a slight accident and that sword brought us here." She shrugged her shoulders and went on. "My father is a curator, someone who finds relics for the museums from different places around the world. We moved from a very tropical area of our country to the complete opposite corner when my parents separated."

"Separated?" Altaïr interrupted her there, "Did you lose your mother?"

"No, nothing like that. My parents simply realized that they wanted different things out of life. My father's job was his passion, and my mother and I were often left at home when he left for jobs halfway around the world. She eventually decided that she wanted a divorce."

"And you left with your father?" It was not a judgmental question, and Altaïr did not mention anything about the divorce customs, or mostly the lack thereof, in this century.

"Yes. We had always had more in common and, quite frankly, I was tired of the heat. The place we moved to was mostly rainy and cold." Samantha laughed suddenly, "And look where I am now! Back to where I started in the heat."

Altaïr could not help but smile along with her. "No wonder you were so pale when you arrived here, what with it raining all of the time I imagine you rarely even saw the sun."

Sam looked down at her arms, whatever wasn't covered by sleeve at least. She hadn't tanned that much considering how often she was outside. Then again, it was hard to imagine getting a tan when she was constantly covered from nearly head to toe.

"Anyways, I went to school for architecture and I met Amy when she started medical school. She would have been a…she would have been like Anass."

"What is healing like in your time?" He inquired.

"In one word?" She smiled, "Amazing. We can cure many things that would have killed someone during this time and we can do it fairly easily."

"Could you have saved Malik's arm?"

The question was abrupt and for a moment Samantha was taken aback. From the look in Altaïr's eyes she could tell that this question had been haunting him. It was one more reason for her to believe in the sincerity of his change.

"It depends on how long it would have taken to get him to a hospital," Sam mumbled, "or perhaps how good the field medic was at their job, but yes, it would have most likely been saved."

"I thought as much," he sighed and looked off to the opposite corner of the room. "My life is now full of so many regrets, Samantha."

"There is always time to make up for them, and it seems you have already started."

He turned sharply to face her, "You believe me then?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Yes. I am giving you this one last chance, but that doesn't mean that I am ready to forgive you just yet."

"I understand, and I appreciate your honesty."

The solemn mood was broken and Samantha smiled, "So where were we?"

"You were mentioning the schooling you and Amy had received, but I do have a question."

"Alright," she gestured for him to continue.

"Where do you think you'd be now if you hadn't come here?"

"To this time?" Sam wasn't even sure. She would have surely graduated by now and either would have gotten a job or would be looking for one. There was never really a definite plan in her mind for what she would do after that. "I would have gotten a job by now. Eventually I would probably settle down and find a husband, maybe I would even have kids." She shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck shyly. Boyfriends had come and gone and none of them she had ever considered marrying. She didn't even really want kids unless the right man came along. These thoughts had been dismissed immediately as something that was too far in the future to worry about. She was never one for planning out her life and what she would do. It was actually quite embarrassing now as she realized that she didn't have any real goals that she had set for herself. Coming here and becoming an assassin was the first real goal that she had ever felt strongly about.

"You would have lived a very different life." This realization hit Altaïr like sack of stones. He had treated her so badly when she had had everything, her life, ripped away from her. She had come into his life involuntarily and he had held that against her the whole time. "Would you go back now if you could?"

He could see her mind working as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. The light blue dress she wore that day rather than her usual assassin garb suited her, and he found that he enjoyed the sight of her figure quite a bit.

"I don't think I could ever come back from this. I know I thought about it, but Amy is here now with Malik and I'm here as part of the brotherhood. I can't imagine how I would go back to a normal life."

There was a part of him that was rejoicing in the fact that she would not want to leave, but part of him also felt sorry that she could not return to her life before. One that was no doubt less life-threatening than the one she was living now.

"Well there's no changing things now," she said fairly brightly, "and at least now I feel like I'm making a difference in the world."

Altaïr was simply relieved to find that she was still smiling.

"So it's your turn now. What's your story, Altaïr?"

His story seemed straightforward now that he thought about it. He was an assassin, and it seemed that was all he had known even when he was very little. It was hard to imagine being anything else or living a different life.

"My father was an assassin, and I was raised from birth to become one as well. I went through my training and here I am before you now." His response was short but he did not feel the need to elaborate. A bit of sourness had returned upon thinking about his past and he quickly tried to suppress it.

Samantha seemed less than satisfied with his response and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well that's interesting and all but I feel like I already knew that about you. Come on, who were your parents? How was your life growing up? Things like that, Altaïr. You need to open up to me too if we are going to start this over."

She was right, of course, it was only fair that he share his life story as she had hers. Altaïr shifted on the bed uncomfortably as he spoke, "My mother died when I was born so I never met her, but my father was," he paused thinking about his father when he was young. The thoughts inevitably led to the day his father was executed. "He was a good man and he understood what it meant to be an assassin."

Truth be told Al Mualim had been more of a father to him growing up than the one that had been ripped away from him. He took a moment to think on how much of a different person he might have been had his father not been killed.

"I'm sorry," she surprised him by reaching over and taking his hand in hers, "I wish I could have met your parents."

He wanted to jerk out of her grasp, and to tell her that he did not need her sympathy. He didn't follow through with these thoughts and instead took a moment to breathe. It was nice to simply sit here and talk, he realized, and the past was not troubling him half as bad as he thought it would. There was an odd sensation in his chest, and he held onto her hand tightly.

"I appreciate you taking the time to simply sit here and speak to me, Samantha, it is far better than sitting here alone and waiting to recover."

Her smile did not quite reach her eyes this time and he wondered what she could have been thinking. "I am glad I can help, then, but tomorrow I will be heading back to Jerusalem to apologize to Amy and Malik."

He was startled by this information; he felt like he had only just arrived here and now she was suddenly leaving again. Now that they were again on good speaking terms he wasn't ready for her to leave.

She must have noticed his change in demeanor. "I'll be back soon," she said as she squeezed his hand, "we'll have plenty of time to speak then."

He wanted to argue, wanted to say that he did not yet wish for her to leave. "I understand."

It seemed their conversation was at a close as Sam rose from her chair, her hand slipping smoothly out of his grip. "This was nice, you know?" It seemed that there was more that she had wanted to say but would not.

Altaïr watched as she strode over to the door, her long dress swishing and brushing on the floor as she went. He willed himself to burn the image of her into his memory; he knew all too well how one life could be cut short in the blink of an eye.

She was already halfway through the door when he spoke. "Will you do me one favor while you are gone?"

Samantha turned around, one hand rested against the door and the other was on her hip. "Yes?"

"Travel safely," he implored before he could stop himself.

She offered him a small grin, "I will, Altaïr, and you must promise me that you will rest and recover from your injuries."

"So no sparring with Rauf then?" He joked.

"If you do I will put you back in here even if I have to drag you."

Their good natured jests were more than enough to raise his spirit and forget his worries about her leaving.

"Goodbye then, Altaïr." Samantha gave a small wave before she closed the heavy wooden door behind her.

The assassin stared at the closed door for half a moment more before gingerly laying back in the bed. His eyes roamed the ceiling as his mind wandered. The day had gone better than he could have even hoped, and now Sam was back for good. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have to tread carefully around her for now on, but it was better than not having her at all.

It was so different, he mused, allowing himself to care about her and her feelings. However, making peace with her was one thing and becoming friends, or more, was another. He could not help but wonder if he wanted more than that. He found her attractive, there was no doubt about that, but plenty of women were.

But they would not be _her._

They would not have her skills or confidence. They would not have her pale skin or the freckles on the bridge of her nose that she had gained from being in the sun. There would be no blonde hair or the same teasing smile.

Altaïr covered his eyes with his hand and groaned; to be so enamored by a woman like this was completely unprecedented for him. Pretending to not care about her was so much easier than this.


	25. Chapter 25

A fairly short chapter, but I really wanted to get an update in to keep me motivated.

As requested there is more of Amy and Malik in this chapter as well as a bit of explicit content (though not as much as there will be in the future)

Everything will begin picking up pace again in the next chapter and if anyone wonders what Amy looks like I think of Christina Hendricks but younger and with freckles.

Please let me know what you guys think!

* * *

><p>Chapter 25: Think of me fondly<p>

The two weeks that she was gone was torture.

Altaïr would have never thought that recovering would be so frustrating. He had of course had his share of injuries over the years, he didn't think there was an assassin alive who hadn't, but none had been this bad. He lay in bed, his skin crawling as he itched to even leave the room. The tan walls that seemed to shrink around him did nothing to help him ignore the fact that Anass hadn't allowed him outside since Sam left.

The assassin peered down at his injuries. The largest cut was healing well and had closed enough that it no longer needed to be bandaged. It was still very sore whenever he shifted, but that was a very small price to pay. The rest of his body was covered in faded bruises, the black and blue fading to a greenish yellow color. Altaïr felt fine other than the ever increasing restlessness building within him.

He pulled his sheets back over his chest as he rolled over. The time he had spent there had given him many hours to think and his mind felt clearer as time passed. He thought about every moment since Samantha had come into his life: every mistake, every word, and every emotion. Things might have turned out so differently if he hadn't been so used to pushing people away. Perhaps if he had not seen her as a potential weakness his life would be much easier. That was the past, though, and he realized if he was going to win back her affections he would have to move forward.

Altaïr pushed his sheets off of him with a frustrated huff. He could no longer simply lay there and feel as if time was wasting away. Clean clothes were neatly folded on the stool near his bed, courtesy of Anass laying them there the day before. The assassin wondered if the healer had done so on purpose, if he knew Altaïr would soon wish to leave. There was no use thinking about it further and he quickly donned the pants and dark blue tunic provided.

He walked over to the basin to his left, rolling his shoulders and reveling in the fact that he was up and walking again. Splashing the tepid water onto his face helped a little with fighting off the warmness of the room and helped him feel much cleaner. There was a looking glass above the basin and the polished metal surface showed him a slightly blurred image of himself. His dark brown hair stuck up oddly from his time spent in bed and he ran his fingers through the thick locks in an attempt to tame them. Altaïr hadn't looked at himself in weeks and he found that he no longer appeared tired or angry. He had always thought he was handsome enough, the scar over his lip and his slight stubble gave him the roguish appearance that many women seemed to like, but now he wondered what Samantha thought of him. She was attracted to him, if the dance and kiss that they had shared was anything to go by. Perhaps she no longer felt that way. After his many blunders he could not say that he blamed her in the slightest.

Altaïr massaged his forehead with his hands. There was no use worrying about it now, especially since he was determined to go outside and get a bit of fresh air.

After yanking on his boots he made his way to the door in a few long strides. He was surprised when the door opened just as his hand was about to touch the knob. Altaïr had planned to leave unnoticed and deal with Anass later, but now he knew that he was caught and about to be lectured. Instead of the healer he was greeted by a bright smile and the woman that had constantly been on his mind.

"Altaïr," she greeted, the knowing smile growing larger, "heading somewhere?"

He was more than happy to see her. His heart swelled at the sight of her and at the fact that her smile was for him alone.

"Out of this forsaken room."

An impish look overtook her features, "I think we might just be able to sneak past Anass if you'd like to get out of here."

Sam grabbed his upper arm and after what seemed like a quick flurry of motion and walking he found himself whisked outside. The afternoon was turning into evening, and as the sun lowered in the sky so too did the temperature. It was a blessing to have the cooler air hit his face after all of the time he had spent cooped up in that room.

He and Samantha didn't speak as they walked, and he simply followed wherever she was leading him. Their feet found their way out of the fortress. They passed women travelling back from the market and other assassins as well. Each one going about their own business and not taking note of either of them.

They were headed down the hill leading to the town when Sam stopped suddenly. Altaïr looked up to find that they were standing below the old withered tree on the cliff side. It was only when Samantha released his arm that he realized she had been holding it the whole time.

"Care to sit with me?" She moved and sat near the edge of the drop off, feet swinging slightly.

The question was so simple and yet he still found himself smiling slightly. Altaïr sat down next to her while thinking about how pleased he was that she had arrived that day.

Samantha didn't move or speak and the only sounds were that of people in the small town below. Altaïr said nothing, not wishing to break the relative silence just as much as he did not know what to say. Should he say how much he had missed her? Or maybe ask about how things had gone with Malik?

Altaïr's thoughts drifted. A light breeze picked up and he could smell the light scent of lavender mixed with the musk of horse that wafted to him from Samantha. He could not help but realize that she had probably come straight from the stables to see him. The thought had his heart fluttering, something that he was quite unused to. The assassin looked to the woman next to him. Her hair was glittering gold, the light of the setting sun filtering through the barren branches of the tree above them. He did not know how he could have ignored her for so long.

"Malik was pleased to see me," her voiced reminded him that he was staring and he quickly looked away, "and Amy too."

"How are they?" Altaïr felt obliged to ask. The loss of Malik's arm must have been hard on both of them, but he had never bothered to ask.

"Doing well," her smiling face looked to him, "they seem much happier than they have in a while."

The conversation went on a little longer, Samantha speaking about how her trip had gone and how she was surprised that she hadn't run into any trouble.

"When do you think you will be well enough to hunt down our next target?"

Altaïr wished he could say soon. "At least another week, if not more, are you eager to work with me again?"

"Yes and no," was her quick response.

"I promise this time will not be like the last."

A small laugh preceded her response, "Somehow I actually believe that."

The comment made him feel much better. Just the idea that she may actually begin to trust him again was enough to make him smile.

The sun was down and purple was creeping into the sky when Samantha rose and dusted herself off.

"It's been a long day of riding so I hope you don't mind if I return to my quarters." Her hand was extended towards him, one that he would have never taken before.

Altaïr allowed her to help him up. His actions since she had gotten there had clearly not gone unnoticed.

Samantha embraced him, an awkward motion that was no doubt worsened by the fact that she probably thought that he would pull away or yell at her.

He hesitantly returned the hug, arms encircling her body. Altaïr wondered briefly if she could feel his heart hammering against his chest as he worried that he would ruin everything again. After a moment he relaxed, feeling how warm she was and how perfect the moment felt calmed him considerably.

She pulled away and he allowed her to step back. "Thank you," her voice was soft, "for being kind to me again."

Altaïr could tell that she was avoiding his gaze.

"I hope that you remain true to your word."

Sam left after that, leaving him alone to think on her words and hope that he would not let her down.

* * *

><p>It had been nearly half an hour since Amy had come back from the market. Malik had been nowhere to be found so she preoccupied herself with putting away the vegetables, herbs, and other things she had bought.<p>

She had finished a while ago and found that she had nothing to busy herself with.

Fingers tapped against wood as the minutes went by. Amy sat at the table near the entrance of the bureau waiting for something to happen. It had been days since Sam left with a few other assassins back to Masyaf and ever since the bureau had been empty other than her and Malik. Now she was left with nothing to really entertain her.

Books that she had read many times over lined the walls and the thought of drawing even more anatomical figures had her yawning. Sand no longer covered the stone floors around her and all cobwebs and dust had been cleaned long ago. The assassins who came in had even learned to take their shoes off at the entrance to avoid her wrath should they track in dirt. She had always kept a clean house and this was no different.

She knew that this was her home now. Malik was there, and wherever he was she would be too.

They had finally come to the point where professions of love came often from their lips. Amy knew that she was going to eventually marry him. Her past ideas of princess-like dresses and extravagant cakes were long gone as she realized that she didn't care what her wedding was like as long as she spent the rest of her life with Malik.

Amy's thoughts drifted to Samantha. She was lonely, that much was obvious from the last time she had visited. Sam had talked about how she wished she could be in Jerusalem more often, as she and Malik were her only two friends. Thinking about it made her heart ache and wish that Sam had at least one other person who was there for her when she needed it.

The thought of the last time Sam was here reminded her that she needed to be researching. Her friend had been complaining of coughing up blood, something that could medically be caused by many different things. Amy went through a mental checklist of what could possibly be wrong. Samantha hadn't really had any recent injuries so she immediately crossed that off her list. Lung cancer was a possibility but Sam didn't smoke and as far as Amy knew didn't have a history of it within her family. The most hopeful prospect was that the cause was bronchitis. From what she could remember coughing up blood because of it was actually pretty common and was usually not life-threatening. Amy worried her bottom lip with her teeth, hoping that nothing was seriously wrong. If it was, none of the medicine from this time could save her friend.

The back door opening had all thoughts rushing out of her mind.

"Amy!"

Malik's voice calling out to her quelled all fears that someone had found the hidden door.

Amy rushed towards the back of the bureau. Her quick steps led her to Malik and she planted a small kiss upon his cheek before helping him with a few of the things he was carrying. She was immensely happy that he no longer snapped at her when she tried to help him.

"What have you been doing today?" She asked cheerily, auburn ponytail swishing behind her as she headed back down the hall.

"Some shopping and a bit of investigating. Himur and Rimal will be arriving tomorrow and will need information on their targets."

Amy had learned enough by now to know that Malik's rank was high enough that he did not need to investigate targets. She also knew that it made him feel better, that it got him on his feet and made him feel useful.

"A busy day." She commented offhandedly as she deposited a few scrolls and packages onto the table.

"No more than usual."

Her hands automatically went to work putting away what Malik had brought. After a few moments only the wrapped parcels remained. She found that her fingers lingered over them, brushing across the rough brown wrapping and twine that held it together.

"Where would you like this?"

Malik placed his hand over hers, stilling her movements. "It is for you."

She looked over to him, unsure of what to say.

"A few things I thought you might enjoy," he said before brushing her bangs to the side to kiss her lightly on the forehead.

Her fingers fumbled on the wrapping, cheeks heating up. Of all things she had expected a present wasn't one of them.

Inside the packages were books on healing herbs and a bar of soap that smelled of milk and honey. The gift was sweet, and she found herself itching to try a soap that wasn't made from olive oil and lye.

Without hesitation Amy threw her arms around Malik's shoulders and kissed him. The movement was sudden and nearly had them toppling over. Luckily Malik steadied them before pulling away.

"You like it then?" A grin spread across his face.

Amy loved that smile so much and had missed it for many months after what had occurred at Solomon's Temple. She was glad that it came so easily now.

"I do, thank you," she pecked him on the lips again before picking up the bar of soap, "but I believe that you now owe me a bath."

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><p>Malik had been hesitant about closing the bureau so early, but after Amy's reassurance that no one was scheduled to arrive he conceded.<p>

The wooden bathtub was large enough for both of them to sit comfortably within. He and Amy had rushed to fill it with hot water, more than eager to be together. Taking baths with one another was a rare occurrence, especially since both of them were often caught up with keeping affairs within the bureau running smoothly.

At Amy's insistence their relationship had begun to include sex. He had objected for a while, but that was before he had nearly lost her to Robert. When that began so too did more intimate things such as sleeping together and bathing together. Malik found that he wouldn't change anything between them.

He watched as Amy undressed, clothes slipping off of her body easily to reveal freckled skin and wide curves. In a flash she was inside the hot water, sighing softly as she settled in and removed the black ribbon that left her red hair cascading over her shoulders. Malik could not help but stare as she draped on arm over the edge of the tub while the other made lazy circles on the surface of the water.

Clothes began to pile around him as he disrobed. He could feel Amy's eyes on him, watching carefully as more and more of his body was revealed. Malik couldn't help the small smile that graced his features at the attention.

Steam curled off of the water in wisps as he entered. Amy waited until he had soaked for a bit before facing her back towards him as an invitation for him to wash her. Malik grabbed the soap he had bought and lathered it up in the water, the sweet scent of honey filling the room as he did. The bar of soap slid over her skin like silk as his hand moved in long strokes. His chest touched her back as he moved to wash her front, moving over her stomach up to her breasts and then finally to her shoulders. The action of washing her was so sensual in itself that he could feel himself hardening.

Amy turned then, plucking the bar of soap from his hands and giving him a soft kiss before beginning her own ministrations. Malik relaxed back as she straddled his waist, water sloshing as she did. One hand massaged his shoulder as the other washed him.

He knew what came next as Amy placed the bar of soap on the small table beside the bath.

Their bodies met in a dance that they had learned the steps to quickly. Breathy moans filled the air as wet flesh melded together in perfect harmony. Malik memorized the way her kisses felt on his skin and the slow way that she made love to him. The release that had been building ever so slowly finally washed over them.

Amy rested her head on his chest and in that moment Malik swore that nothing would ever separate them again.


	26. Chapter 26

Update time! In my mind this chapter was going to quite a bit longer but I really wanted to get a chapter out. As always any reviews are really appreciated and help motivate me.

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><p>Chapter 26: Ghosts that we knew<p>

Samantha was torn between continuing onward and turning her horse around.

Her anxiety increased with every step her horse took, stomach roiling in displeasure as her clammy hands gripping the reins tighter than was necessary. Altaïr seemed to take no notice, and for that she was grateful. She didn't want to show her weakness to anyone.

"We worked well together on our last mission," Altaïr's grumbling voice broke through her reverie.

"Perhaps we make a better team than you thought." Samantha willed her voice to remain even and then forced a small smile.

Their time spent in Damascus was brief as they had done well, incredibly so.

Their target had been Jubair, a scholar in the city. He had been burning books, filled with knowledge that Samantha longed to preserve. The man was a lunatic, claiming that the books were weapons to trap people. She supposed that was true, if the final goal was to have a mindless herd of sheep following a leader without asking questions. Knowledge was and always will be power.

The mission had ended up being an easy success.

She had jumped in despite Altaïr's warnings in order to prevent Jubair from pushing a man into the large bon fire he had created. It was lucky she had, for her actions had knocked their target to the floor and prevented him from escaping the building.

Altaïr moved in for the kill while the man she had saved fled. Jubair's devout followers, however, wished to finish what they had started. Samantha cut through them as if they were made of nothing but paper, the thrill of the fight filling her after the many days she had spent inactive.

The whole assassination was very quiet and drew little attention. No guards came, no civilians fled in fear, and very little blood was spilt. They cleaned their blades and headed back to the bureau unhindered.

Afterwards something strange happened. Altaïr had complimented her.

He spoke about how using her instincts was her strongest attribute, and how it had helped save the life of an innocent that day.

She could tell that the words had not come easily, but he was trying and that was what really mattered. Samantha wanted to trust him again, and perhaps this was a first big step.

However they were no longer in Damascus and were not headed towards Masyaf.

A letter had been sent by Al Mualim to the bureau and the contents had made her blood run cold. The one place that she never wished to see again was the one place that they had to go.

Their two day journey was nearly over, and by nightfall she would be in Acre again.

Her skin crawled at the thought of the city and she longed to be as far away from it as possible. Going there was now her duty, though, and she would not fail no matter how she might feel. All she could do now was push her fears and memories to the back of her mind and hope that she would not fall apart.

Rhaego did not seem to mind the familiar path and seemed to constantly want to go at a faster pace. After hours of trying to make him slow down she had given up, letting the horse wander ahead of Altaïr. She found that she was glad for the distance between them, fearing that he would notice her discomfort the closer they got to their destination.

The night descended quickly around her and left Sam hoping that they would make camp instead of going on to Acre. Just the thought of another night to steel herself made her feel better.

A small breeze picked up as the night got colder. Samantha closed her eyes, trusting Rhaego not to wander off of the path, and relished the cool air against her warm skin. A chorus of crickets picked up to mix in with the sound of Rhaego's breathing and the tamping of hooves on the ground.

A new sound appeared out of the darkness.

The sound of waves crashing against stone ramparts shouldn't have sounded so ominous. Samantha had always loved the ocean before this, but now it held nothing but bad memories.

Her fears were confirmed as Altaïr reined up beside her.

She hadn't even noticed that Rhaego had stopped moving, wrapped up as she was in her dread. Her eyes drifted towards Altaïr, even his white robes could barely be made out in the darkness. The heavens had graced them with a new moon that night, leaving her unable to see the city but for a vague outline.

"There will be no one on the streets at this hour," Altaïr spoke as he dismounted.

"Let us hope that it is too dark for the guards to see us," Samantha replied almost mechanically. Her hopes of avoiding the city for another night had been dashed and she was trying to remain calm.

She found her feet hitting the ground. Her hand met Rhaego's neck as she followed behind Altaïr towards the stables. Sam's fingers dug into his coat, serving to ground her and focus her attention on something other than her fears.

The stables were warm and nearly all of the stalls were full. She led Rhaego to one of the only empty spaces, her fingers fumbling with the buckles on his saddle. Any other day she could have done this in a matter of minutes, but with shaking hands the task was much harder.

A hand covered hers and she could feel Altaïr's presence behind her.

"Allow me." His words were barely a mumble and before she could move he grabbed her hand and moved it away from the saddle.

Samantha stepped away from her horse, allowing him more room and giving her a moment to steady her breathing. He hung up her saddle and grabbed her bag full of supplies.

"Are you feeling well?" Altaïr asked, handing her bag over.

"Of course," she lied, keeping her voice cheery.

She could hear rustling as he shouldered his own bag. "Are you sure? Your hands were shaking."

Samantha had to come up with an excuse quickly. "Excited," she turned away from him and headed for the door, "we've got a new mission and I'm just excited." Her voice had nearly faltered as she ended her lie so she attempted to perk up her tone once more, "Let's just get going!"

She couldn't tell whether or not she had convinced him, but he followed her out of the stables nonetheless and then led them into the city.

Sam trusted him enough to believe he knew where he was going, and so she followed him blindly through the empty streets. Their quick footsteps were barely audible even in the silence of the night. They were still cautious though, and darted quickly between the darkest shadows. She knew the bureau when she saw it, even in the blackness of the night.

Her body followed Altaïr up onto the roof, muscles moving to scale the walls as she had a dozen times before in other cities.

This was not a bureau that Sam had ever seen before, and when she had been imprisoned in Acre she had been under the impression that there were no assassins in the city. This thought brought up many questions.

The inside of the building was a sharp contrast from the night, and even the dim lamps had her blinking bright spots out of her vision. Bookshelves lined two of the walls in the main room and a workbench sat against another. The Rafiq stood behind his own desk, his sharp eyes peering at them impatiently.

"I hope we did not keep you waiting too long."

Samantha's eyes wandered around the room as Altaïr spoke to the Rafiq. She felt much better inside the bureau. The ocean could no longer be heard and the inside looked similar enough to the others that she could pretend she was in one of them. Whether or not her mind would allow her to was another matter entirely.

Altaïr bid the Rafiq a good night and she followed him down the hall. The light from the main room faded behind them and the hallway grew darker with each step. Sam focused on the back of Altaïr's heels, only stopping when she accidentally bumped into his back.

She looked up to find him staring at her. Doors were on either side of them and she assumed that they had made it to their rooms.

"Do you still insist that you are fine?" He looked concerned, even if all she could see was his mouth frowning at her.

Sam made her excuses of being tired and quickly said goodnight before rushing into one of the rooms.

With the door closed behind her she slowed her pace to a walk, moving over to plop her bag onto the round wooden table before her with a long sigh. Her belt followed the bag along with her sword. The process went on until she was standing in nothing but her underwear. Samantha gazed at the bed across the room, hoping that she would be able to sleep tonight.

Even with no clothes on the room was too warm and her palms still sweat. She clenched her fist, moving over to the basin beside her bed and splashing her face with the water within it. Sam vowed to try to overcome this. She had to.

The urge to pace her room all night was overwhelming, but she resisted and forced herself to lie down in bed. Cool, crisp sheets covered her in their comforting embrace and the soft confines of the bed pulled her thoughts away from the cold hard floor that she had spent months sleeping on.

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><p>She was trapped.<p>

Something bound her arms together and kept her from moving. There was someone else there, their presence obscured by darkness. Memories flashed before her eyes, those of torturous men who wanted nothing more than to harm her. She struggled, kicking at the soft ground beneath her in an attempt to free her arms.

A newly lit candle on the table illuminated the room and cast shadows onto the wall. Altaïr stood in its light.

Samantha looked down to find that her body had become entangled in her sheets. Her skin was covered in an uncomfortable film of sweat and she immediately wished the room was a bit cooler.

Had she been in some sort of waking nightmare? Everything had appeared so real and yet she had only been trapped in her own mind.

As she disentangled her arms a movement from in front of her caught her eye.

"Altaïr."

"Hush," he held out his hand to stop her speaking anything more.

The bed dipped in as he moved to sit in front of her.

"It's this place isn't it? You have been uneasy ever since the letter came ordering us here."

Sam nodded, not trusting her voice.

"What is it you fear?"

She curled her legs up in front of her, hugging them tightly. It took her a few moments before she answered, "Being trapped again, unable to see the sun except for a small hole in the wall." Her cell had been present in the back of her mind ever since they had left Damascus. "I fear being forced to accept my fate because I cannot change it, and I fear dying alone."

Altaïr grasped her hand and pulled it towards him. "You are not alone."

Samantha waited a minute, debating on whether or not to ask this question. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"Did anyone look for me?"

His grip tightened on her hand. That was the answer then.

"Why?" She should have expected that they wouldn't look for her, but still part of her had hoped.

"We did not know-"

"If there is even one thing that you owe me, Altaïr, it is the truth." Sam hadn't meant to snap, but now more than ever she wanted the truth from him.

"Al Mualim forbade it. Forgive me for saying this, but I was not myself then and I would not have searched either way."

Samantha thought that hearing it from his own mouth would hurt more, but the Altaïr that was now sitting before her was remorseful and had changed. There was nothing left to hate or be upset about.

"Please allow me to help you with this."

She wasn't sure anything could help her. Sam was exhausted and simply wanted to sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares of the past. Tomorrow was another day and she could face her fears then.

"Very well," she agreed, her voice hinting at her uncertainty.

"Then allow me to stay here for the night; a friendly presence may help you sleep more soundly." There was no hint of joking or amusement in his voice, and for a moment Samantha couldn't believe he had actually asked to spend the night with her.

Despite the nights they had spent camping between cities she had never thought that he would ever ask to share a bed with her.

"I don't think-"

"Trust me," he interrupted her mid-sentence, "if only for this once, Samantha."

She should have said no. Sending him back to his own room would have been the safest choice considering that she still shouldn't trust him completely.

"Very well."

Her words incited movement from Altaïr as he released her hand. She could feel him circle around her to lay down, not touching her even once as he settled in beside her.

Samantha didn't know what time it was or how long he would stay, but she knew that this choice would not kill her. Not to mention that she had promised to give him a chance to show how he had changed. He had already proved himself a few times and this could be another such instance.

Her body was too tired to think of anything more regarding Altaïr's character. Sam turned over on her side, facing away from him and stealing all of the sheets for herself. If Altaïr minded he made no mention of it, and in the morning she would be glad of the decency that the sheets offered from the nakedness of her breasts. For now, though, her breathing slowed as she relaxed and drifted closer and closer to sleep. The small noises in the bureau began to blend together, making a soothing background noise that lulled her into a semi-conscious state.

A static clouded her mind as she neared the brink of unconsciousness. Warm fingers caressed her back in long strokes and she briefly wondered if Altaïr thought she was asleep. She didn't care. The calloused pads of his fingers felt heavenly and she made no move to reprimand him.

She wished she was not so tired; at least then she could have said something to him. It felt as if she had walked into a dream. The Altaïr she had known would never had been so gentle and affectionate towards her and therefore a dream was the only explanation.

Sleep descended upon her just as a warm pair of lips met her skin. The slight stubble on Altaïr's face rubbed against her as a second kiss was planted on her spine, just between her shoulder blades.

His voice broke through the relative silence in the room, speaking words that she could only hope to remember in the morning.

"I will earn your trust back, Sam. You are worth every moment it takes."

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><p>Samantha awoke to the sound of her door opening and closing. She longed to keep her eyes closed but the question of who was entering her room was too much to ignore. Her hand patted the bed beside her where she was positive Altaïr had been last night but all it met was empty space.<p>

"How are you feeling?"

The sound of his voice from across the room was enough motivation to open her bleary eyes.

"Well rested," she responded, one hand rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes and the other propping her up into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

Altaïr was already dressed and the bed beside her was not warm enough for him to have just gotten up.

"It is midday."

She supposed that explained why she felt so rested despite nearly half of her night being spent in a nightmare. However the late hour meant that she had slept too long and wasted their chance to uncover information about their target, and Sam wasn't sure she was ready to spend another night in the city.

"We have no time to lose then," her bare feet met the cool stone floor, "if we are lucky we will be able to find everything we need to know about this 'Sibrand' before nightfall."

He held out his hand for her to stop, something she noticed he did quite often now. Sam briefly wondered if this was his way of stopping himself from snapping at her. "It has been taken care of. I gathered the information we needed while you slept."

Her hands that had been pulling the sheets to her nearly bare body stilled briefly, "What? Why?"

"You are an assassin now and no longer need to do such work."

Samantha couldn't believe what she was hearing. On their last mission she had done reconnaissance with him and he hadn't said a word. She waited for him to speak again, knowing perfectly well why he had truly done it himself.

"And I know what this city is to you. If you'd like I can perform the mission myself." His voice was surprisingly soft and she watched as he cautiously made his way over to her. It was as if he was afraid that she might bolt if he made any sudden movements.

She hated it. He was treating her as if she would break if he said one word out of turn. He was treating her as if she was weak.

Her hands tightened around the sheets, gripping them until her knuckles paled. She _was_ weak. Acre was one monster that she did not want to face; it was the one place that frightened her to her very core.

"No," she breathed, the sheets falling as she cupped her face in her hand, "that will not help me overcome my fears."

The bed dipped as Altaïr sat before her, much like he had the night before.

"Shall we overcome them together then?" He held out his hand for her to take, "I am still at fault for this and I fully intend to set it right."

Samantha could not help a smile from creeping onto her face as she placed her hand in his.

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><p>Altaïr could tell from the look on Sam's face that this was not going to be as easy as her smile had made it seem; especially considering she could barely make it out onto the roof of the bureau due to her shaking hands. He would have to figure out what the bastard Robert had done to her here. He had wanted to distance himself from that topic as much as possible in order to forget what pain he had caused her, but now it had come back to bite him.<p>

He would do anything he could to help her. Assassinating Sibrand could wait if need be.

The streets were buzzing with people and he could tell Samantha was panicking. She flinched at every loud noise and looked around endlessly as if she were expecting an attack at any second. He would have to get her off of the streets to some place quiet where she could relax. Perhaps then she could tell him the details of what had happened to her.

Altaïr found the nearest food vendor and paid him for two loaves of bread and some fresh cheese. Sam was surely hungry even if she did not voice it. He looked to her, walking dutifully beside him.

Samantha did not ask where he was leading them even as they walked through the gates of the city. She did not relax even then, and he knew she wouldn't until they were far from this place. Still he led on, taking them in a wide circle around the city of Acre.

He could now feel her questioning eyes upon him as he led her through the hilly terrain. The sparse trees were not enough to conceal them from any guards that could be watching, but he had travelled this path many times and had never once been followed.

The ground was beginning to slope downwards towards a crag between the land and ocean. Sam seemed to be getting more nervous the closer they got to the water. Altaïr found that odd, since it was she who had saved him from drowning what seemed like so long ago.

Bits of rock and sand began to crumble beneath their feet. He secured their lunch in one hand and grasped Sam's hand with the other. They would need to slide the rest of the way down and Sam's clammy hands confirmed that she was panicking more than she let on.

They made it to the bottom without incident, for which Altaïr was extremely thankful.

Before them now was a cave, protected from the blasting surf by a wall of solid rock. He had accidentally discovered it the second time he had come to Acre on a mission. Templars had been chasing him from the city and he had slipped down the slope and tumbled into the shallow waters of the cave. The Templars never caught him and he had found a new refuge that day. Before now no one had ever known about it.

Altaïr moved to step forward beneath the overhang of rock, still grasping Sam's hand within his own. He was immediately stopped as Samantha would not budge.

"What is wrong?" He questioned before turning face her.

She shook her head back and forth, "I want to go back." Samantha's body was trembling like a leaf but other than that it seemed that her fear had paralyzed her. She was unable to go back or continue onwards.

Their package of food dropped out of his hand, unnoticed, onto the damp rock beneath them. "Please tell me what is wrong." Altaïr grasped her shoulders with both hands, worried by the unnatural paleness of her skin and the way her whole body shook. "You are here, Samantha," he reassured, wishing that she would look up at him, "not in the memory that your mind has conjured."

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><p>Samantha could feel the icy water around her body, pulling her deeper into its depths as she struggled against it. Her mind told her that she was on solid ground and that Altaïr was speaking to her, but her body still fought against the choking sensation of salt water filling her lungs.<p>

She could remember the blackness of that night in perfect detail and it consumed her vision. The rumbling of waves against stone and the salty tang of sea spray brought her back there. Sam doubled over, catching herself and scraping her hand on the rock beneath her. She was hyperventilating, still caught in the memory of fighting for the tiniest breath of air before another wave crashed over her.

Altaïr forced her to look up to him, golden brown eyes pulling her out of her memories.

Her breath still came quickly and he softly commanded her to control her breathing. She did. In and out, she repeated in her head until her breathing had slowed. Altaïr had let go of her chin, but still kneeled beside her, one hand laid gently on her back.

As the memories faded she was left feeling weak. Her body now trembled as she sobbed into her hands. Sam had not expected her fears to hit her this hard, even after Amy warned her about having post-traumatic stress. More than anything, though, she was frustrated. The time she had spent imprisoned here should have left her stronger than ever. She had escaped and lived despite nearly the whole world acting against her. That had to be worth something.

Tears continued to fall and she desperately wished she could stop them. Despite having lived through so much she was still afraid of death, and this cave Altaïr had brought her too reminded her all too well of how she could have died the night that she had escaped. She wanted to curse him for bringing her here, but he had only been trying to help.

"Please speak to me, Samantha."

She inhaled again, steeling herself in order to speak. "I-I am better." Her stomach still felt like it was in knots, but having Altaïr's presence here had helped her. God forbid she had been alone on this mission.

Every fiber of her being wanted to get over her fears and unwelcome memories, but she knew it would be a long process.

Altaïr grasped her hands tightly and pulled her to her feet. Her legs wobbled a bit but he quickly steadied her.

"Let's eat, and when you are ready perhaps you could tell me what happened to you here," he suggested.

She nodded, eyes cast down to the dark rock beneath her. "Yes, that may help," she agreed. Never had she spoken aloud what had happened to her in Acre; even Amy had not wanted to broach the subject.

She vowed to recount it as best she could in hope that it would help in some way. No matter how hard it would be for her to speak about it she would not stop until all of what had happened to her was laid bare before Altaïr.


	27. Chapter 27

New chapter! I'm pretty happy about this one even though writing about PTSD is super hard and I really had no idea what I was doing. I have pretty bad anxiety but that really doesn't compare.

Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter they really made me feel much better about my writing! Honestly I think that this story may be ending soon and making way for a part two story (there may even be a poll about it).

Please review and I will try my best to update soon!

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><p>Chapter 27: Sigh no more<p>

Altair listened patiently as Samantha struggled through recounting her story. As much as he did not want to face what had happened to her because of his actions he knew that he must. In order to better help her he had to know. Sam was strong, but even those who are strong still need help. He knew that better than anyone.

He tried his best to comfort her when her sentences broke off from her voice cracking. This was probably the hardest thing he had done in his entire life, and knowing that he had caused it made it even worse. Every situation she spoke of made his heart clench and wonder how she could possibly be here now, and still wanting to be an assassin nonetheless. Lesser men would have cracked and told secrets about the order but Sam had remained vigilant. Altair was proud and regretted every time he had complained about her.

They sat there for hours as she worked through her feelings, crying off and on in between talking and apologizing that he had to do this for her. Altair reassured Sam every time that he wanted to be there helping her.

The cold gusts of wind that blew into the cave began to chill them to the bone, and Altair figured it was about time they returned to the bureau. Samantha agreed, teeth chattering as she did.

Both of them were relieved at the warmth of the bureau and ate a small dinner of cooked fish and potatoes. He ate his food in silence, unwilling to break it for he was sure that Sam was exhausted from the day. Altair ate relatively quickly, hoping that he would be able to hear the rest of the story of how she had escaped Acre. From what he had heard so far it seemed impossible, and yet here she was sitting before him. His eyes darted up from his food to see that she had eaten half of hers and was now pushing around the food absentmindedly.

"Would you like to continue our talk?" He questioned while nudging a bit of fish with his spoon. "Or we can speak more tomorrow."

She shook her head and released a sigh. "Let's finish speaking tonight and then complete our mission tomorrow."

"Very well," he agreed. "We can also leave after our mission is complete and you will not have to stay here any longer."

Samantha pushed her plate away. "That's very kind of you," she gave him a small smile before turning away from him and rising from her seat.

He watched as she retrieved their plates and moved to the basin in the corner of the room to scrub them clean. She had pulled her hair down on the way back to the bureau and now it fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Altair had always found it odd that she never really liked wearing her hood whereas he constantly wore his. He didn't mind, as it meant that he was usually able to tell what she was thinking by the expressions clearly written upon her face.

After a good ten minutes had passed he realized that she was taking an absurd amount of time to wash two dishes.

Altair rose and approached her, taking note of how her hands furiously scrubbed the wooden plate. "Samantha," he spoke softly and took the plate from her hand, "it will do us no good if there is no plate left at all."

She seemed to wake from whatever reverie had taken her and gave him a sheepish smile. "Forgive me today has been," her expression immediately grew somber, "trying."

"Let us retire then and rest before tomorrow." Altair put the damp plate back on the table and then ushered Sam out of the room, his hand resting on her lower back.

They made their way to her room and he gently closed the door behind him. Sam sat on the bed and he sat on a chair across from her. Before he could even speak she went headfirst back into her story.

"I escaped from Robert's prison with the help of one of the servants. She told me of a celebration that he intended to have and aided me in sneaking out, disguised as one of the workers."

Sam kicked off her boots as she spoke, no doubt to distract herself from the story she was telling.

"Now that I think about it, though, I doubt she was a servant at all. When she arrived to free me she had paid off the guards and gave me this," she yanked a dagger from where it had been hiding, sheathed, in her boot.

Altair was given the dagger to examine. Its fine make and red cross on the hilt told him without a doubt that it belonged to some noble lord or one of Robert's closest advisors. "Did you ever see her with someone other than Robert? Someone who may have wanted to help you escape?"

"No one that I knew of, and I never saw her again after I left." She took the dagger back from him and sheathed it once more. "After I left the building one of the Templars recognized me and gave chase. I was still injured but made it up onto the battlements faster than he could follow only to find that I was stuck between him and the sea."

"And you jumped," Altair guessed based on her newfound fear of the ocean.

"I did. I must have barely missed the rocks but the current still threatened to drown me."

He could see her struggling at this point and he closed the distance between them to put a comforting hand on her knee, silently telling her to continue when she was ready.

She took a deep breath and continued on. "I finally gained purchase on a larger rock simultaneously earning this scar." Sam quickly removed her bracers and then her gloves to show him the jagged scar that marred her palm. "I was too exhausted to move and slept until morning, just before the sun began to rise."

Her story continued and he listened intently. Each trial that she faced made her being here seem even more like a miracle.

His emotions mirrored Sam's. Feelings of excitement and happiness filled him when she spoke of finding a horse and when she discovered a town in which to get food and water. Just as he felt hopeless when she spoke of running out of food and water just before finding a sign that pointed towards Masyaf.

"I must have been about to die," she acknowledged, "I was sick and my wounds were infected. I would have probably given up all hope, but then I saw an assassin riding out of the city. I had never been happier to see anyone in my life. I tried to ask for help but I was too weak to say anything and he continued on." Samantha's expression grew sad, "I wish he had stopped to help me. At least then I would have known I had made it to Masyaf." She shook her head at the thought. "They tell me it was Rauf that found me outside the gates and, well, here I am now." Sam seemed relieved that she had finished, the idea of her surviving all of that seemed to brighten her mood considerably.

On the other hand Altair's mood had soured at the last portion of her tale, knowing that he had been the one who had not helped her when she needed it most. If Rauf hadn't have found her she would probably not be sitting before him right now. He hadn't known that, though, he had thought she was just a beggar.

It didn't matter, he realized. As an assassin it was his duty to protect the weak and the innocent and he had failed time and time again.

He could not let her know that the one who had ignored her was him. She would never forgive him.

"That was-," Altair searched for the right words, "I cannot believe it. All of the fear and pain I caused due to my pride."

The thought made him sick. He couldn't understand how Samantha could ever try to forgive him after all she had been through. The images his mind conjured of her being beaten and tortured would haunt him for the rest of his life. Altair knew he deserved this, and more than that he knew that Sam had lived through all of it.

Sam bit down on her bottom lip, her brow furrowed. "Yes well, the past is behind us, right?"

He wished it were that easy.

"Of course," Altair agreed reluctantly.

A yawn came from Samantha as she stretched her arms towards the ceiling. "Well now that we've spoken about everything perhaps we should sleep."

She took no further note of him as she busied herself with removing her belts and sword from her waist.

He didn't want to leave yet and wondered if it would be too bold of him to suggest staying with her another night. Even after she recounted her tale he still doubted that she would be able to rest easy while they were in Acre.

"I hope you don't plan on wearing all of that to bed." Samantha's voice broke through his thoughts and he quickly realized that she wore nothing but a loose grey tunic.

Altair understood her meaning and moved to undress as well. He had done nothing to deserve her trust and yet she was still allowing him to stay.

"Don't get any ideas about this," Sam spoke from beside him after he had laid down on the bed clothed only in his pants, "it's only until we leave Acre."

"Very well," he agreed solemnly. He knew from her light tone that she was teasing him but the thoughts of what she had told him were too fresh in his mind for him to share her humor.

* * *

><p>Samantha trudged behind Altair, her boots sloshing through the deep puddles that lined the street. She held down on the top of her hood, attempting to pull it further over her head in a fruitless attempt to keep the rain from pelting her face.<p>

A storm had rolled in overnight and it was still pouring well into the day. They had stayed in the bureau for as long as possible waiting for the rain to let up. It was around noon when they decided to venture out despite the bad weather. She wished that she could have spent that time sleeping, for the thunder the night before had shaken the walls so badly that neither she nor Altair had slept well.

Sam yawned again and hastily hopped over a particularly deep looking puddle.

"This has got to be the worst mission on record," She mumbled. Her clothes were completely soaked through and she was chilled to the bone, not to mention that water had seeped into her boots and was now sloshing around uncomfortably.

"We're nearly there," Altair reassured her.

"Where are we going anyways?" If the rain was good for anything it was keeping her mind off of past memories. It was hard to be anxious or frightened when all she could think about was warming herself up.

"The docks." His reply was short and she figured he was just as annoyed as she was.

They walked for a bit longer with only the sound of their boots squelching in the mud and the patter of rain on rooftops accompanying them.

The sound of a crowd slowly drifted toward towards them from the end of the street and they immediately quickened their pace. Sam rounded the corner behind Altair to see that a ring of people had gathered around a scholar and a man in a white tunic, a red cross emblazoned on his right breast. He had to be their target, Sibrand, and based on the way he was harassing the scholar she could see why.

Samantha crossed her arms over her chest, hoping she would not have to intervene as she had on their last mission. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to them, especially in this place.

Sibrand accused the scholar of being an assassin, his voice growing louder and more hysteric as he spoke. The notion was obviously ridiculous but no one in the crowd seemed willing to speak on the scholar's behalf. She was surprised by this since other scholars stood in the crowd, watching as one of their own was pushed around and begging for the Templar to see reason.

"Are you calling me a coward?" Sibrand bellowed and caused some members of the crowd to back away in fear of his wrath, eying the bow strapped to his back warily.

"Please, why are you doing this to me?" the scholar begged to know. "I've done nothing wrong!"

Sibrand sauntered around him nonchalantly, "I don't recall of accusing you of any wrongdoing."

Sam watched their target carefully. It was clear to her that he was completely unhinged due to his paranoia. She wondered briefly if she might have ended up similarly if Altair had not helped her and if she had not faced her fears.

"If you are truly a man of God then surely the creator will stay my hand!" Sibrand waved his hands wildly in the air.

She had a terrible feeling that this would end in bloodshed; her hand found her way to her sword.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Not this time," Altair spoke softly, if her hood and been down she was sure his breath would have ghosted against her ear. "There are too many people and if he runs we risk not catching him at all. Promise me that you will not interfere."

Samantha was torn, knowing that the life of this one scholar would save countless others did nothing to help her guilt.

"I promise," she breathed, head downturned in shame that she was going to allow this man to die when she could prevent it. Her hand slid off the hilt of her sword to hang loosely by her side.

Sam listened as the scholar begged one last time for the crowd to make Sibrand see reason. The sound of a blade being unsheathed was enough to tell her what was to come.

"It seems the people share my concern. What I do, I do for Acre!"

The gasps of the crowd as Sibrand cut the scholar down tore into her heart.

"Report any suspicious activity to the guard," he ordered his men. "I doubt we've seen the last of these Assassins," he spat upon the ground at the word, as if it were a curse, "persistent bastards!"

Samantha finally tore her eyes away from the ground to see Sibrand donning a horned helm and telling the crowd to get back to work.

The people dispersed and she watched as two guards picked the scholar up and dumped him off the docks and into the water below. Her feet took her past Altair and towards the spot on the ground where the man had died. The blood was quickly being washed away by the rain. She regretted that she could not save him, as it was her duty to protect the innocent. Sam realized that she would have to harden her heart in order to continue on. Sometimes, she told herself, one life had to be sacrificed for the sake of many others. She would gladly sacrifice her own life in such a way.

"Come," Altair placed his hand on her shoulder, "now is the time to strike."

Samantha steeled herself. "What is our approach?"

"The only way is across the boats moored here, but we will have to be cautious of all the guards Sibrand has brought to protect himself."

She nodded her approval and followed closely behind Altair. They snuck behind a group of guards patrolling one of the docks and hopped onto a boat, hiding in it until they had passed. Crossing between boats was not as easy a feat.

The wooden decks of the boat were slick from the rain and made it hard for the two of them to gain traction. Both she and Altair had already nearly slipped twice.

Samantha's eyes wandered as they ran in an attempt to keep track of the patrolling guards. Altair ran onto a different boat before her just as she spotted an archer atop a watchtower near them. She sprinted forward, easily clearing the gap between boats before tackling Altair to the deck.

Her body was pressed onto his to keep him pinned down, hand moving to cover his mouth before he could argue. The archer turned away from them a few moments later and she hastily moved from atop him and yanked him to his feet. She took the lead this time, pointing up to where the archer was as she ran so that Altair knew to watch him.

They continued to the main boat with no other incidents, climbing up the back of it to where they had last seen their target. The rain was falling even harder now, pelting them with unbridled fury. Sam was near the top of the boat when her hands slipped. She cried out as her fingers scrambled for purchase, it was hardly a second before she caught on to a carving on the wood. It was too late, though, a guard had heard her and had alerted the entire boat.

Altair was going to be furious with her.

"Assassins!" She heard Sibrand cry a second before an arrow whistled well over their heads to land with a thud into another boat.

"Onto the deck," Altair ordered her.

Samantha obeyed him and hastily climbed up the rest of the way, Altair close behind her. They stood facing at least seven guards. Sibrand looked as if he was about to bolt.

"Stop them!" Their target shouted and jumped onto the boat he had shot his arrow into.

"Catch him," Altair nudged her behind him and towards the railing.

"Be safe," she told him before leaping off of the large ship.

She had her target, and now she could drown out all of her fears and doubts. Her hands were steady and her footing was sure as she chased after Sibrand. The wind whipped at her hood and she pulled it from her head as she ran, it had done nothing to keep the rain from obstructing her vision anyways.

After clearing a few more boats her target stopped. He was clearly out of breath and had lost track of her while he ran. Sam watched as he sank down onto the deck of the boat in attempt to hide, but his head was still visible even from where she crouched.

She walked towards him, all noise she would have made was completely drowned out by the pouring rain. A few more jumps and she was behind him, close enough to where she could see his hands shaking as he gripped his sword. She thought of the scholar as she plunged her hidden blade into him.

Sibrand scrambled backwards to the other side of the boat, his sword falling from his hand as he did.

Samantha was startled to find that he was still alive.

"You are afraid," she whispered.

"Of course I am afraid," he acknowledged.

Samantha stepped onto the deck of the boat. She was curious; she had never truly spoken to one of her targets before.

"Afraid of death? Don't you believe in the afterlife?"

"After all I have seen how could I? Our treasure was the proof that only nothingness lies beyond."

"The Apple of Eden you mean?" She asked, inching closer.

"It was the proof that this is the only life we have."

"One cannot truly know that," she argued.

Sibrand eyed her carefully. "Robert has spoken of you and of how you came to be here. How could you believe when there is an artifact powerful enough to bring you to this time?"

"Perhaps that was your God's will."

"You do not believe," he stated with certainty.

"I believe only in what I have seen. I will not know if there is a God or not until I have passed on to the next life or into the void of nothingness that you speak of."

Samantha would have spoken with Sibrand longer but his life ebbed away as the red of his blood stained the white of his tunic.

* * *

><p>"You fought all of them?"<p>

"Yes, it would have done no good to lead them away and attract the attention of more guards."

Samantha sat before a shirtless Altair, dabbing a wound on his shoulder gently. She supposed his reasoning made sense but it was still amazing to her that he could fight off so many guards at once.

"Well the cut isn't deep," she told him after the bleeding had stopped, "I doubt we'll even have to bandage it."

Altair nodded his thanks before redressing. "Shall we leave then? I know you are eager to be back in Masyaf."

"Definitely."

They gathered their things and left the bureau. The rain had stopped and the evening sky was filled with patches of clouds. People roamed the streets, performing whatever chores they couldn't complete while it had rained. Samantha was glad to have a dry change of clothes and to finally be leaving the city.

Still, her thoughts remained on what Sibrand had said. Before today she had never really stopped to consider how the sword had taken her and Amy to this time. Sam had honestly been more concerned with surviving than sitting around all day questioning how it had all come to be.

Now she wondered if there was a reason they had been brought here or if it was all an accident.


End file.
